


To Soothe a Battered Heart

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings, Friendship, Happy Ending, Light Angst, London, M/M, Romance, Ultimate Danny/Steve, Vacation, temporary Danny/Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-04 13:58:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17899418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: A story of friendship and love and hurt and healing....“That’s not what relationships are about, you can’t pick to start one only when you’re free from damage. None of us would ever have any meaningful relationships that way. The whole point of love is you do it together. Not just the happy smiling hallmark moments. The shit and the heartbreak and the pain and the loss. The whole point of love is that it makes those things survivable. Otherwise there’s no point.”





	To Soothe a Battered Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Haaaary. My heart. I just can't seem to stop writing him..... This is my fourth Harry story and hopefully it won’t be my last. I blame those of you who keep encouraging me! Well. And myself. So much myself. I’m just thrilled you love him too.
> 
> I am *horribly* behind on replying to comments. But I will get there eventually....
> 
> **Content notes:** There are some glum moments sprinkled throughout, about loss and fears and anxiety and self-loathing. But overall it’s hopeful and cuddly and warm, with of course, a happy ending for all. 
> 
> Also... I'd written this before the episode with Rachel's mom. So... obviously, Rachel's parents in this are my own invention. 
> 
> Set in season nine.

“Danny,  _please_.”

It wasn’t that long ago... really not very long ago at all. Danny would have been thrilled. Delighted. Over the fucking moon. To have Rachel on her knees before him, pleading. Begging. He’d have flung it in her face, walked out the door (slamming it no doubt on the way out), all with a painful grimace of delayed gratification on his face that no doubt would not have felt as satisfying as he’d imagined for so long.

But... that was then. And now? Honestly, now it just makes him vaguely uncomfortable.

“Fine. Rachel,  _fine_. Okay? I’ll go. Just... stop being so weirdly dramatic about it.”

“Oh, thank you Danny. Thank you. I promise, you won’t regret this.”

And she knows to take it for what it is, and is up on her feet and out the door so fast she probably misses his muttered “I very much doubt that.”

He’ll regret it alright. Hell, he’s only just agreed to go with her and the kids to England so she doesn’t have to face her parents’ Icy Judgmental Stares alone for the first time since the Stan divorce. Only just agreed, what, not even thirty seconds ago? And already he’s regretting it.

Well, fuck. Nothing for it now. And he feels for her, he does. Simon and Julia Hollander are not exactly the most warm and loving of people. And they’d been far more welcoming of Stan into the family than they had of Danny, which was hardly surprising from people who evaluate a person’s worth based on their bank account and little else. And Rachel knows they’re not happy about the divorce. The only chance she has of making this visit tolerable, she’s decided, is if she can convince Danny to pretend to be back with her, so “at least the kids have a real father again.” (Rachel’s mocking of her mother’s snobby tone had made Danny simultaneously laugh and shiver.)

Still. There’s no way it’s not a disaster in the making. There are movies about this stuff. Movies that never go well for the whole pretending-to-be-together thing.

At least it will be a change from the prevailing mood permeating the island lately. If nothing else, it will be a nice break for Danny. Besides. What’s the worst that can happen?

Of course Steve doesn’t agree. They actually  _fight_  about it. Not just one of their affectionate squabbles, but an out and out fight. With hurtful words and dirty looks, and fuck, Danny needs a goddamn break because it’s not the first time Steve’s made him cry lately. He’s gotten a little pessimistic about their chances. 

And that, right there. Is probably 99% of Danny Williams’ problems. This eternal hope that somehow— _magically_ , evidently, because he doesn’t seem to be willing or able to actually  _do_  anything about it—but this sort of lingering hope that someday he and Steve will end up together. 

It’s dumb. He knows. And yet. Somehow? Oddly... this fight. Well, it proves there’s something there right? Something  _more_.... Oh, fuck, Danny doesn’t know anymore. It’s all too much. It’s too... complicated.

Things haven’t been the same with Steve since the whole Joe thing. The whole all of  _that_  thing. And maybe Danny hopes that if he goes away for a bit, it might help clear his head. And maybe Steve’s as well. And maybe that will... what? Reboot things maybe?

Danny needs simple. He needs a break. A pause. Something else. Something easy and not complicated.

_Right_. Because traveling thousands of miles to pretend to be back together with his ex-wife.... That’s uncomplicated. Um.

Steve’s right. He’s being an idiot. Still. Steve could have asked him to stay. Not told him to  _not go_. But asked him to  _stay_. If Steve really had feelings for him, that’s what he would have done. Isn’t it?

  
Grace isn’t pleased about it either.  

“Dad, why are you doing this?”

It’s Wednesday, and it’s just the two of them for a change. He’d been looking forward to their time together, planning on watching something other than a Charlie-friendly movie, maybe ordering something other than pizza. And not talking about anything painful. Maybe about sports or music or books. The kinds of things they used to talk about over chocolate malts and fries. But Grace has other ideas.

“You shouldn’t be doing this. You guys finally got to a place where you’re able to actually be pleasant to be around. This will ruin that. You  _know_  it will.”

He’s hurt by that. Not the implication that he and Rachel are incapable of being more than vaguely tolerable co-parents, because he knows, deep down, he knows that’s true. And it stings, of course it does because it’s never going to not feel like a failure on his part. (And yes, yes, she’s the one who has been hurtful and deceitful, it’s not like he doesn’t acknowledge that. It’s just... he still feels like a failure.) But what really hurts, what really pours the proverbial salt on the wound of his relationship with the mother of his children, is the blatant fact that Grace is so patently aware of it. Has been since she was little.  _That’s_  what really hurts. Charlie doesn’t have too much of a sense of these things, the layers of hurt and betrayal that color the relationship between his parents. But Grace has always seen it perfectly clearly. 

And Danny wishes she didn’t. 

He sighs. Shoves a stack of take out menus at her, hoping they’ll create enough of a distraction he can get past her interrogation and through the night without regretting having given in to Rachel’s pleading any more than he already does.

She looks at the menus, pulls out the Thai and Japanese ones and shoves those back at him, meeting his eyes with a fierceness that really does remind him of Steve much more than of Rachel.

He picks the Thai menu and pushes it back across the kitchen counter to her. Looking away from her intense stare, he runs his hands through his hair. And he caves. Maybe if he admits that he  _knows_.... Maybe she’ll drop it. At least for now.

“Okay, monkey. You’re right. I know. I do. I just... I couldn’t say  _no_.”

When he glances back up, she’s marked her pick of seafood curry on the menu, adding two of the chicken satay appetizers they both love. She looks at him with sympathy. “You never could. I guess I’ll just have to watch your back,” and she kisses him on the cheek, and goes to put the other menus away and set the table. And she doesn’t bring it up again, but he feels he’s been put on notice somehow. He knows he’ll have to be aware of it.

Charlie at least is excited. It’s not his first time to England, but it will be his first time to England with Danny, and for some reason he thinks that means it’s going to be an adventure. And frankly, he is a huge part of why Danny’s agreed to come. Not just because Charlie’s a worse flyer than Danny, and Rachel doesn’t have the patience to deal with their obsessive anxious fears. And not just because there will be a blow up at the house over Rachel’s second failed marriage—and Grace will stand by her mom through it, but Charlie will hide if there’s yelling. And Danny couldn’t face the thought of him having to be in that house for it. That huge, cold, dusty, “don’t touch that, it’s older than your country” house. 

But the thing is, Danny  _likes_  England. He always has, since long before Rachel, long before he’d been there. Grew up loving the accent, grew up loving their TV shows. And the thing about England is, unlike most things in life... it doesn’t disappoint. England really is what you expect it to be. And there’s nothing else on earth Danny can really say that about. So it’s got a special place in his heart, and yeah, he wants to share that with Charlie. And maybe that means he’s using Rachel a little bit, to get that chance. But screw her, she’s used him in far worse ways. He thinks he can take this one thing and not feel like a heel for it.  _He hopes_.

  
Packing for trips like this always makes Danny feel like he should have a completely different wardrobe. Maybe he’s let himself slide too much lately, giving into island style a little more, at least in his non-work clothes. Maybe he’ll treat himself and go shopping in London. He briefly imagines a shopping trip with Harry like the one they’d had with Sophie. With Harry helping Danny to pick things, selecting things for Danny to try on, commenting on what looks good on him, telling Danny his favorites, maybe helping him to undress.... Um. Well, that got a little intense in his mind a little fast. 

_Okay_... so, maybe there’s another reason Danny’d given into the whole “Help Your Ex-Wife Lie To Her Family” trip idea.

A certain five-foot-eleven, blond haired, blue eyed, impeccably dressed, and yes,  _bloody gorgeous_  reason. Forgive him, but  _you_  try resisting that. Especially when it comes with  _that accent_. Ohh, the things that accent is capable of doing to Danny’s insides. 

He packs a few things he’s sure to hide in his bag’s secret compartment so Charlie doesn’t accidentally find them, then takes them back out and makes use of them, because his imagination can evidently be  _really_  creative when it comes to Harry Langford.

(He’d feel bad about that too, but frankly it just feels damn good, and there’s not much in his life right now he can say that about, so fuck it, he’ll take it.)

His goodbye with Steve definitely falls under the category of Things That Do Not Feel Good, but Steve softens just as Danny’s about to head off to meet up with Rachel and the kids.

“Will you at least go see Harry and buy him a few beers for me? Thank him for all he did... you know, for Joe.”

Yeah, Danny does know. Thanks for the reminder, Steven.

“Of course, babe,” Danny says a little too heavily, as they hug for probably a little too long. And maybe that means something good, maybe it means something awful, Danny really can’t tell with Steve these days. But it’s contact, and he misses it, so he takes it. Gladly.

“Be safe,” Steve whispers just before he lets Danny go, and it’s all Danny can do to not pull back and full on slap Steve right then and there for the sentiment.

“ _You_  be safe,” he says instead, and Steve chuckles, so that’s maybe a little something hopeful.

The flight is mostly uneventful. Charlie and Danny sit together while Grace sits with her mom, and Danny sees already that his daughter was serious about watching his back. 

By the time they land, they’re exhausted, as Rachel had known they would be, and she’s booked them into a hotel near the airport so they can get their “land legs” before they drive out to the family estate and the cold glares and judgmental silences that await them there.

Charlie is energized rather than drained by the whole travel experience, so Danny winds up in the hotel pool with him while Grace and Rachel freshen up and go out for food. By the time Danny and Charlie are out of the pool and showered and in their pajamas, the girls are back with carrier bags full of those scrumptious Marks and Spenser premade foods. Far too much food, but they somehow manage to eat it all, while watching a quirky travel and automotive program, and have a remarkably lovely time doing it.

Charlie shares a bed with Danny and Grace sleeps with her mom, having arranged it so she and Danny end up with the two inner spots. And they have a brief father-daughter, eyes-only conversation before they both drift off, and he’s honestly never been prouder of his daughter. Never felt luckier. He’s starting to think this might be a pleasant trip after all, maybe not half as bad as he’d been anticipating.

Which he should never have let himself think. Because of course the next day is a disaster.

Okay, so maybe “disaster” is overstating it, because the thing is, it goes perfectly. 

They do some stuff in the city before heading out—a quick drive past the major sights then a couple stops for a few necessities (like decent coffee) and only then, reluctantly, do they head out to the family home. Danny feels his panic level rise the further from the city they get, but that might partly be an ingrained response from childhood. 

Besides. The country really is lovely here. Rolling hills, fluffy sheep, stone cottages. And village greens that look ready to host fêtes and fairs and flower shows and biscuit bake-offs. It’s not long before they’re driving down the hedge lined lane to the Hollander family estate. 

It’s an imposing house—of course, it’s meant to be. Crumbling a little around the edges, as most country homes are these days. Grace thinks it’s romantic. Charlie thinks it’s spooky. Rachel thinks it’s a prison. Danny just thinks it’s a burden. He’d rather be in a posh modern flat in the heart of the city. He’s not certain his ex-father-in-law doesn’t agree, but there are “Images to maintain, Daniel. Images to maintain.” 

Danny thinks  _images_  can go fuck themselves, he’d rather be within spitting distance of decent pizza, but he takes a deep breath of country air, lets it out as slowly as he can, then turns to head up to the house, bracing for an impact... which doesn’t come.

Simon and Julia are, against all odds and all previous experiences, warm and welcoming. They even seem pleased to see Danny. Neither divorce is spoken of. The status of Danny and Rachel’s relationship not questioned. It’s almost as though the past ten years never happened. 

The indoor pool is filled and heated and Charlie wants to get directly in it. Someone’s even put out inflatable toys, which considering Danny would have bet money his ex-in-laws didn’t even know such things existed, is kind of shocking. 

So Danny and Charlie swim while Grace strolls through the gardens with her grandmother, cutting lavish bouquets of the estates beloved roses to fill the house with their sweet smell. Rachel sits with her father in the study, helping him through languishing paperwork, listening to him complain about the cost of upkeep and how the roof won’t stop leaking (the topics are just a guess on Danny’s part, but they’re the usual topics, so he’s reasonably confident he’s right). 

The Hollanders still “dress for dinner” though thankfully not in tuxes, but the girls are expected to wear dresses, and jeans and tee shirts are expressly forbidden. 

Danny pulls Rachel aside on their way down to dinner (they have separate rooms, but then, when they’d stayed here while they were married, they’d been given separate rooms).

“What the hell is going on?”

She looks around them as she shushes him, then replies in a soft tone, “I have no idea.” At least she’s as surprised as he is, it makes him feel slightly less insane. 

“I think your parents have been abducted by aliens and replaced with clones who’ve been given niceness potion.”

“Danny, I have no more an idea what’s going on than do you.”

“Well I don’t like it. Something’s up.”

“Can you please stop being suspicious and enjoy it while it lasts?”

He sighs, straightening his shirt. He’s uneasy in his own skin here, despite the seeming shift in climate. “Yeah, okay, you’re probably right.”

He even manages to almost enjoy dinner, mostly because the food is remarkably good. For all her unpleasant qualities, Rachel’s mother makes the best roast beef and Yorkshire pudding Danny’s ever tasted. Even Charlie loves it.

But of course he’s right. Something  _is_  up. Because the next morning at breakfast (which is exactly what you expect it to be, with warming trays of eggs, toast in those little toast holders, silver carafes of coffee and tea, and orange juice in crystal decanters),  _he’s_  there. 

And now it’s staring him in the face—now Rupert is staring Danny in the face—everything makes so much sense. It couldn’t have been anything else. Any  _one_  else. Because, in her parent’s eyes, there was only ever one man for Rachel. The one that got away. The one she should have married. The one she was supposed to have married. The one she very nearly  _did_.

It was how she’d wound up in Jersey. Too young, hadn’t experienced enough of the world. Needed an adventure before doing the done thing, settling down as all good English girls do, with the proper young man, to continue on with the family line, to carry on, keeping calm, and so forth. 

Instead she’d wound up married to a Jersey cop and pregnant with his child. 

Sometimes Danny doesn't really blame her parents for hating him. 

With Stan out of the picture, Danny knows he ought to have anticipated the reappearance of Rupert on the scene. Last Danny’d heard he’d married some minor French celebrity, but those things never last, and divorce had quickly followed, and maybe it’s sentimentality that’s lured him back this fine English morning. Maybe it’s something less polite. He’d always sworn Rachel was his soulmate. The problem was that Rachel hadn’t believed in things like that.

She’s not looking so much like she minds right now, and frankly Danny can’t blame her. Because, fuck is Rupert good looking. Danny’s seen photos, but. Whoa. Brief celebrity marriage and tabloid coverage of the divorce must boost a man’s sex appeal, because Danny thinks for one half of one moment if it’s even vaguely plausible to get them both in bed with him. 

(God he needs sex. Because that is just not an okay place for his mind to be going right now. Or  _ever_ , frankly.) 

Breakfast is slightly strained, but that’s probably mostly on Danny’s part, because everyone else is patently smitten with Rupert. 

Grace is surprisingly taken in by him.  _Stop looking at him like that_ , Danny wants to yell,  _he’s old enough to be your father—hell, he literally_ could _have been your father_. Sometimes Danny really hates his life. 

Charlie is captivated by Rupert’s boyishly enthusiastic storytelling, his one-of-the-lads demeanor, the old school charm that simply oozes out of his every pore. 

Even Danny ends up swayed by him, despite trying to put up a good fight. And it’s not only the sex appeal. He’s just so damn  _nice_. No one could dislike this guy. Danny’s tempted to ask Rachel how the hell she hadn’t married him, and if she doesn’t want him now, can Danny have him, please. 

_Tempted_. But he sees how Rachel’s looking at him. It’s like she’s been transported back. And in a good way. Back past all the hurt of the past ten years. Back before life got all grown up and hard. That’s the kind of effect Rupert has on you, Danny thinks. As though life could be carefree and fun, if only he was by your side. It’s powerfully compelling. It would be so completely easy to fall under his spell, and throw away god knows what for just one more moment under his thrall.

So when he asks, whatever he asks, Danny knows there’s very little chance she’ll say no. And Danny knows he’ll ask. He’s not sure what Rupert’s playing for, but he is here for a very specific reason, and he’s not imagining he’ll fail. Danny guesses he’s not very used to failure. And maybe that’s what Danny’s sensing—his divorce is driving him back to the arms of the first woman who refused him. Maybe he thinks getting back with her will fix whatever the divorce might have broken in him. Danny absolutely understands that. Understands, too, how tempting it is to try and get back with Rachel. It’s...  _enlightening_  is maybe the right word to use... for Danny to see someone else attempting it.

After breakfast they move outside, to the perfectly manicured grass courts. Rupert’s going to play tennis with Charlie, who is eager to prove he’s as good as his sister. Grace is not quite up to playing again yet—her hand-eye coordination hasn’t returned to full, though the doctors promise it will if she keeps up with her therapy (she’s got exercises to do on the trip, and she makes sure to do them all). But Charlie has more natural talent at tennis than Grace does—she works her butt off at it because she wants to be better. Charlie messes around with it, doesn’t take it seriously. But if he did, Danny knows, he could be very good. Rachel wanted to push him, but Danny made her stop, so he still has that natural enjoyment of it, and when Rupert had let on that he’d had a fairly successful amateur career, Charlie had gotten more than a little excited.

Charlie gives Rupert a run for his money—Rupert being a good sport of course—and they collapse on the grass after their mostly playful exertions, and sip lemonade (or, what the English call lemonade, which is fizzy and not very lemony), and what Danny knew was coming happens. Rupert asks, and before the question is even out, Danny knows Rachel wants to say yes.

“I was hoping you and the kids would join me in Paris,” he begins, in his slightly lazy drawl that’s not at all what Danny expects from someone of his class. It’s definitely part of his appeal. “My lawyers have just won me the apartment there in the divorce, and I want to go change the locks before she does something spiteful like rip out the eighteenth century wallpaper.” He’s not  _trying_  to be humorous, he’s just naturally witty and amusing, and Danny feels more than a tiny pang of envy. Not for eighteenth century wallpaper, but for Rupert’s easy comfort with himself. 

Rachel’s left speechless by the offer, and Danny knows—as no doubt does Rupert—that an apartment in Paris is a longstanding fantasy of hers. But when he turns his dark puppy dog eyes on Danny, there’s a boldness there Danny’s not expecting. 

“You’re welcome to come as well of course. There’s plenty of room,” and Danny hears the latent offer in his tone. He means the bed is big enough, Danny’s nearly certain. And part of Danny (an embarrassingly large part of Danny) wishes he were bold enough in turn to accept. But an even larger part of him knows that would be a colossal mistake. 

If he hated Rupert it would almost be easier, but he actually likes the guy. Likes him a lot. And he a natural with the kids as well. And if Rachel’s gonna end up with some posh British bloke, well, damn but it’d be nice if it could be one Danny would actually enjoy having a beer with. That’s not something worth fucking around with.

Give her credit, Rachel doesn’t immediately say yes. “We need to talk it over,” she says, glancing uneasily at Danny.

Rupert looks between them and nods, warm gaze assessing openly. “Take your time. Charlie and I will find out what’s holding up those cucumber sandwiches. Maybe we should go help Grace, what do you think, old chap?”

“Maybe she’s eating them all herself,” Charlie suggests in a suspicious tone.

“Well then we’d better go eat all the cakes!” And Rupert hoists Charlie easily over his shoulder, much to Charlie’s delight, and they take off towards the house, zooming sounds trailing behind them.

When they’re alone, Danny finds himself smiling at his ex-wife. Because he can tell. She’s more than tempted. And, despite everything between them, he really does want her to be happy. If only because it makes his life much easier.

She knows he can tell, and she looks at him apologetically. “It’s just so good to see him,” she tries, clearing hoping her tone, comes across as guilty, but she’s simply too entranced, too taken, too...  _fond_  isn’t a strong enough word, but it’s not quite love. Not yet. Though it seems to Danny it’s only a matter of time. 

He wants to mind, but he can’t.

“Rachel.  _Go_. Seriously. I’ll be fine. I have someone I need to visit anyway. Take the kids. Have a lovely time.  _Go_.”

He expects her to put up more resistance. At least pretend to. And yeah, it stings a tiny bit that she doesn’t.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you don’t. But you’ve got me anyway. Just go. Bring me back a snow globe of the Eiffel Tower.” 

She kisses him on the cheek and goes to tell Rupert and the kids  _yes_.

  
He’s got Harry’s London address in his phone. As though somehow Harry had known someday this might happen. Still. Danny hesitates. Yes, he’d love to see Harry. But this is London, not Oahu, and one doesn’t just pop in unannounced. 

And yet... if he calls, and Harry says  _no_.... 

Maybe it’s better to be there in person. And yes, that is Danny’s pride speaking, because if he gets rejected one more time today, he’s likely to drink too much and call Steve and tell him everything. 

And  _that_. Fuck, that can absolutely  _not_  happen.

He makes it to the street in front of Harry’s building, and maybe his mind is playing “On the Street Where You Live,” and probably that’s not helping, thanks very much. In the end, it’s the awareness that there are cameras literally everywhere in London, and Danny does not want to make assumptions, but he’d be shocked if Harry doesn’t have access to at least some of them. And Danny gets a little bit lost wondering if Harry has the equivalent of a Q, and if so if they’re as adorable together as Craig and Whishaw. And then this very attractive woman is letting herself in and asking if Danny needs letting in, and there are layers to her offer that Danny struggles to admit, but okay, it gives his ego a much needed boost, so he allows her to lead him to the elevator, and that’s how he finds himself standing outside Harry’s door.

Nothing for it, really. Just... knock? Surely there’s a bell.... He could call? He settles for using the knocker which is simple and tasteful and not doubt cost a month of Danny’s salary. And before Danny can feel the sting of the implication of that, Harry is filling the doorway with his amazing presence. That sunshiny confidence, and dammit, but it spills over onto Danny, and he finds himself smiling shyly.

“Daniel. Why, what a pleasant surprise. Please, come in.” 

And, bless him, Harry is utterly unsurprised. And what’s more, unless Danny is very much mistaken, there’s some smug extra something in there. Typical Harry, of course. But something more than that, more than the usual Harry smugness. It makes Danny shiver. Which Harry notices. Of course.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Oh, god that voice. Danny feels weak and pathetic for it, but yeah. This will soothe his wounded feelings right now. Oh, fuck yeah.

“Let’s just say I’m an idiot and I fell for the same thing I always do, and now I’m stuck alone in London for three days with nothing to do, nowhere to go.”

Harry grins. “So naturally, you thought of me.”

“I  _was_  gonna tell you I was going to be in town, I just....”

“Danny. No explanation necessary. You’re here now, that’s what counts.”

That easy acceptance. No pushing, no scolding. Steve would have been all over Danny for this. Maybe not right out lecturing him, but the  _I told you so_  would have been beaming out of his eyes like lasers. Danny’s grateful for this instead.

“Thanks, Harry. That means a lot.”

“Of course,” Harry says it easily. Graciously. And he takes Danny’s bag from him, sets it down, and steers Danny over to a sleek and minimalist but perfectly appointed bar, where Harry’s clearly just made himself a cocktail. “Can I get you a drink?”

And Danny’s a tad overwhelmed. It’s not that he hasn’t known Harry has excellent taste and the bankroll to back it up. But knowing that in theory, and seeing it in person, in the form of platinum rimmed coupe glasses and bottles of all the best booze, are two different things. “Yeah, sure,” he stammers. “Uh—whatever you’re having.”

And Harry grins slyly at him, emptying the rest of the drink that’s still in the shaker into a matching crystal highball glass over perfect cubes of totally clear ice, topping it with an impeccable coil of lemon peel. It’s bracing and medicinal and slightly orange in hue, and it smells, Danny imagines, of Capri. 

“Just a little something I whipped up for a dull afternoon. I was trying to brighten my mood... but you’ve done a far better job.”

The drink must go directly to Danny’s head, because he feels his cheeks heat. “I dunno, this is pretty good,” he manages, then is suddenly aware he’d better sit down, and fast. Thankfully there are two black leather club chairs nearby, and he thinks he manages to fall into one with some semblance of not-quite-elegance. 

Harry sets his drink down on the small cocktail table between the two chairs, excuses himself to make a call, and vanishes around the corner. Danny hears him softly tell someone that something’s come up and he’ll have to take a rain check on tonight. Danny’s stomach clenches, but his heart lifts, because, okay, being the one plans get broken  _for_  is a nice twist on the day. 

Still, his manners won’t let it go unremarked.

“You didn’t have to cancel your plans,” he says when Harry re-emerges after making another call Danny can’t quite make out (he almost thinks it sounds like code), and sliding gracefully into the other chair. 

“I’d much rather be with you,” Harry says easily, and it doesn’t even sound like a line.

But it  _feels_  like one. 

And there goes Danny’s ego again, swirling higher. Or maybe that’s still the drink. Yeah, it must be the booze. That and the suddenly remembered fact that Danny’d skipped lunch. Which explains the complete failure of his filters as the reply that pops into his head makes it out of his mouth before he can think the better of it:

“You say that to all your dates.”

And the words are barely spoken before he’s regretting them, because that’s a hell of an assumption to make, Daniel. That this would be a  _date_. 

But Harry’s smirking over his cocktail. “I’m glad to hear you say that. Because I was afraid I was going to have to persuade you.” He looks at his watch. “If you’d like to shower, we have some time before our reservation.”

And Danny would object to the presumption. Ordinarily, he’d bristle at that. Not being asked, simply  _told_. But, um. Well, fuck it. Not today, alright?  _Not_.  _Today_.

Harry shows him to a bathroom that’s almost spartan, and yet somehow opulently plush. The tile surfaces are smooth, an almost velvet-like grey stone. The floor is a paler grey, with thick navy rugs next to the sink, shower, and a rather enormous freestanding tub. The walls are also navy, in a matte finish that’s unusual in a bathroom, but Danny instantly likes it. The lighting, which emanates evidently from nowhere, seems almost otherworldly. Danny feels cleaner just being in the room. 

And then Harry steps closer, right up against him, and whispers, “There’s a steam setting in the shower. I can show you that later if you like,” and then he’s gone, not giving Danny a chance to object—or to agree, because spring in London is colder than Danny’d remembered, so yes, sitting in a steam shower for a while (let alone with Harry Langford) sounds just the ticket. 

In stark contrast to the tepid water and total lack of pressure at Rachel’s folks place, Harry’s modern plumbing belies its English origins, and Danny nearly looses himself in the spacious shower. When he exits at last, it’s to find Harry in the bedroom doing up his cuffs. There’s a suit laid out on the bed, and Danny has the sense it’ll fit him perfectly.

“Should I even ask?”

“Probably best not.”

Once Danny’s in the rich, superbly tailored, midnight blue suit, Harry  _hmms_  his approval, then escorts Danny out the door, hand at the small of his back, the epitome of the perfect gentleman—until, that is, his hand slips lower and he palms Danny’s ass, just briefly, while they wait for the elevator. When Danny glances at him as they enter the mirrored lift, Harry winks. 

Danny doesn’t realize he’s expecting Harry to drive a familiar silver Aston Martin till they’re in the parking garage, and a similarly sleek but black Audi sports car (the likes of which Danny’s never seen before) flashes its lights. And of course, Danny already knew that Harry’s driving style is an echo of Steve’s, but he is also perfectly capable of being civilized, and he is just that as they make their way through London’s glittering streets. 

They arrive outside a simple building, an understated, unmarked entrance given away only by the valet at the curb. A private club, then. Of course.

“Evening Mr Langford.” The valet nods as he holds the door for Danny to step out. “Enjoy your meal,” he says to them both, as Harry hands him the keys before slipping his arm possessively around Danny’s waist.

“Who’s on the bar tonight?” Harry asks the valet.

“Ahh, it’s Holly, tonight, sir.” 

There’s no mistaking the fondness in the man’s tone. Or the pleasure in Harry’s reaction. But there’s something else in the exchange, Danny’s sure of it. Some information is passed along, and Danny’s at a complete loss as to what it might be. 

He finds it fascinating. 

“Splendid. Thank you, George.”

“Of course, sir.”

The inside of the club is as opulent as the outside is understated. The plush carpet beneath Danny’s dress shoes a rich plum color and soothingly soft, the walls a gilded botanical pattern, adorned by crystal sconces fitted with old fashioned bulbs that look hand blown. Deep booths line the edges of the room, upholstered in an olive green velvet that’s somehow timeless yet perfectly modern, while the tables that fill the center of the room are small and round with crisp white table cloths. A single candle in a frosted holder and a fresh white rose floating in a small glass globe are placed perfectly in the middle of each table. 

Harry nods to the host, if that’s even what the man can be called (he looks far too elegant to be considered simply waitstaff), then guides Danny to a booth in the far corner that feels isolated, yet with a view of the entire room. A perfect table for a spy, Danny finds himself thinking, before he realizes that’s absurd. 

Because of course, that’s exactly what Harry is. 

Once they’re seated, Harry catches the eye of someone Danny can only call an English Rose, who is presiding over a bar that is far softer, fuller, more feminine than the mostly masculine décor of the club. There are bottles the shapes of which Danny doesn’t recognize. Nothing has a commercial label, it all seems to be custom or house made. What’s more, the selection of garnishes looks for all the world as though it’s come from an English cottage garden, rather than the kitchen of a five star spot. Maybe it’s along the lines of a farm-to-table craft bar, but it feels somehow  _more_  to Danny. And when Holly’s eyes meet his, he thinks he knows why. He can’t explain how he knows, but he knows. She’s not simply a bartender. Far from it.

She walks slowly over—giving, he thinks, Harry time to explain her to Danny if he chooses. Which he does.

“She’s an old friend. I trust her with my life,” Harry whispers, eyes looking deep into Danny’s. He’s pretty sure that’s code for  _She’s a spy like me_ , but maybe he’s just being dramatic.

“Holly is the one bright spot in an otherwise dull London,” Harry says, loudly enough to be heard by her as she nears the table, and Danny notes that Harry is truly pleased to see her, his eyes sparkling with delight. 

It’s possibly a game between them, because Holly’s eyes roll exuberantly as she shakes her head scoldingly, muddy blond waves swirling around her soft, round face, brushing her brightly pink cheeks. Danny’s too late to stop the laugh that escapes his lips. It's a gesture that reminds him of himself.

“Who’s this, then?” She asks as she slides closely in at Harry’s side, watching Danny with an interest he can’t quite place. It’s not sexual, it’s not competitive, it’s... he almost wants to call it academic. Or professional.

“This is my friend Daniel. And I think he could do with some of your borage gin.”

“Ah. Wounded heart, is it? Of course. Those lovely eyes. They’ve seen too much pain.”

It’s the kind of thing Danny would ordinarily shrink from, but maybe it’s the accent, maybe it’s something about her soft English warmth, but he thinks he would take just about anything from her that she would offer.

“Let’s see...” she peers deeper into his eyes, then looks over at her bar. “Old wound re-triggered, or recent injury?” She asks, but he’s not really sure she’s asking him. “Yes, I think I know....” She looks back at Danny and smiles sympathetically. But it doesn’t feel like pity. It feels like she’s connecting to something in herself. And that empathy, it feels helpful. He’s not really used to it, and he can tell from the way Harry’s watching them interact, he’s feeling pleased he guessed right.

“And you, my love?” She turns to Harry and tilts her head, assessing. “Not your usual, then. Something a little more playful, I think.”

Harry’s typical light smirk turns up slightly more at the corners, and Danny’s fairly sure he would make it a full on smile but that would be admitting too much. She sees enough confirmation in his eyes, though, and that seems to settle it.

With their drink orders in line, Holly turns briefly to business. Danny watches as her posture, her entire manner shifts, and he can see her fitting in a briefing room, or on the other end of comms, as easily as she fits here in this velvet and crystal setting.

“Mr Crawford’s been in twice this week.”

“Has he now.” Harry sounds so pleased by the news, Danny’s surprised he doesn’t actually rub his hands together. “Still attentive?”

“As ever.”

“Excellent. Thank you, my dear. Well done.” And he kisses her hand. She looks amused and tolerant, and it occurs to Danny he’s not entirely sure which of them would have the upper hand if it came to it, but it would not surprise him in the least if it were Holly, and not Harry. He likes knowing that. Makes Harry a little more... accessible.

After she heads back to the bar, they settle more comfortably into the booth, Harry pressing his leg gently but firmly against Danny’s under the table. And Danny doesn’t ordinarily enjoy being watched quite so closely, but somehow Harry makes it easy to take. He starts to feel some of the layers of hurt that have been clinging to him lift, and they’ve been weighing more heavily on him than he’d realized, because it’s a clear relief to feel them fade.

It’s not long before Holly’s back, setting their drinks before them as though she’s presenting a gift she hopes very much they will enjoy. 

Danny’s smells like an English garden, with cucumbers and little blue flowers floating in it, a tiny white rose perched on the rim. It’s bright and it’s floral, and just a tiny bit sweet, and maybe it’s her presence, but it seems to go directly to his heart and soothe him.

“Okay, that’s remarkable. How do you do it?”

She smiles warmly, and that goes directly to his heart as well. This is someone you want to spend time with. Someone who, just being around, makes you happy, makes you feel better about life. He sees why Harry’s so fond of her—and how she could be invaluable in his line of work. 

“Plants are medicine for the soul,” she says, as though she’s imparting a secret of the universe. “Always look to plants when you need healing.” She places a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Well, plants, and a good man. That helps, too.” And she winks at Danny and walks back to the bar.

“She’s remarkable, isn’t she?” Harry takes a sip of the something playful she’d brought him, which is slightly pink and garnished with a sprig of what Danny thinks must be honeysuckle.

“Yeah, she’s something... but this is seriously good.”

“One of my favorites.”

Danny recognizes the implication, that Harry understands what he’s going through... knows in some sense how he feels. And that helps, too.

So does the food, when they finally get around to it. Very much also in the farm-to-table style, fresh greens Danny’s not familiar with, sprinkled lightly with a cheerful citrus dressing—all the food seems aimed at bringing the feeling of a summer garden to the plate. Fish, lightly seared, with a fruited chutney that’s slightly spicy and earthy, and potatoes that are somehow creamy though they’re only dressed in olive oil and mustard.  

Dessert is a typical English pudding, warm and comforting and not too sweet, with a steaming custard to top it with, and by the time they’re sipping hot toddies brought by Holly with a directive to have sweet dreams, Danny feels as though his taste buds have been on a voyage while he’s remained perfectly still. It feels a little bit like a revelation, and he wonders if he dare ask if they can come back tomorrow.

Half way back to Harry’s, Danny begins to wonder what botanical magic was in that toddy, because he’s finding his other senses are wanting to join the journey. Everything feels heightened. He’s aware of Harry’s breathing, his cologne, the movement of his arm as he shifts, the push of his leg as he accelerates. By the time they’re back in that mirrored elevator, and Harry’s hand slides back down to cup Danny’s ass, more firmly this time, it’s all Danny can do to hold back from pressing Harry into the glass and kissing him for all he’s worth.

He’s glad he waits, though, because once they’re inside, Harry removes his own jacket, then reaches for Danny’s. And having his suit jacket taken off him has never been such a turn on. It must be the heat glinting in Harry’s eyes. Like he’s wanted this for a very long time, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

And he does, oh he does. He’s slow and he’s purposeful, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s easily the most practiced lover Danny’s ever had. No awkward first times when Harry Langford’s on the case. What’s more, Danny’s never lasted so long after being so turned on for so long—and after as dry a spell as he’s had. He half wonders again what Holly’d put in their drinks, because he’s pretty sure Harry works from him the most amazing orgasm he’s ever had, and Harry’s seems to be nearly as intense. 

They’re laying in bed after, fingers twining together, Danny’s head resting on Harry’s chest, and Danny starts to explain the whole Rachel thing. Harry listens compassionately, with understanding and kindness and warmth... and something that seems oddly like  _hope_.

“What you need, my dear fellow, is to have an affair.”

“But... I’m not married anymore.”

“No? It seems to me that you are very much still attached to your ex-wife. And you’re also very attached to Steve. And neither of those are doing you any good at the moment.”

“I’m not denying that.”

“And neither of them can be  _more_  unless you let go the other.” 

And that right there... it’s not like he hasn’t known that, at least on some level. But to hear it from Harry, he knows he’s right. As long as part of him is still hoping to get back with Rachel—whatever he means by that, even when he fantasizes about living together platonically just so he can see the kids every day—he can never have the relationship he wants with Steve. And the thing that’s harder to admit, hurts more because it pisses him off, but if he wants any kind of relationship with Steve, Rachel’s  _never_ going to let him back in. Not all the way. And so he’s stuck. 

So if Harry feels he has the answer, well, Danny’s not unwilling to listen. 

“You need romance. You need to be swept off your feet. Pampered. Treated the way you deserve to be treated.”

“Are you offering?” And he thinks he means it as a joke, but his tone doesn’t come out sounding like it.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

And it’s not like Danny’s not tempted. Hell, it sounds like the best idea he’s ever heard.  _But_.... “But that’s not fair to you.”

Harry does that completely adorable thing where he clearly thinks you’re being silly and isn’t entirely sure what he ought to do with you. He pauses, presses his lips together, swallows, then smiles softly. 

“Of course it is. Danny you have to stop underestimating your own worth. Having an affair with you would be one of the highlights of my life. I get spend time with you at my side, on my arm....” A pause and a meaningful look. “ _In my bed_. Treat you the way I think you should be treated. Convince you that you deserve more. Deserve better. You are an amazing human being Danny. I want you to know that.” He licks his lips, then brings Danny’s hand close and kisses it. “Don’t over think it. Just for once in your life. Let it be what it is. No strings, just two friends having a good time, making each other happy. Just for now.” And on that, not expecting an answer, Harry pulls Danny close and they drift peacefully off to sleep.

In the morning when they wake, Harry looks fondly over at Danny, who hasn’t slept that well in as long as he can remember. And Harry doesn’t say anything, just smiles as though he knows Danny’s answer will be  _yes_. Then he gets out of bed, saying “Wait here,” and isn’t gone long before he’s back with two mugs of coffee. 

“What would you like to do today?”

And the thing is. No one ever asks Danny that. The kids always choose, Steve either demands they go surfing or simply follows along with whatever Danny was already doing, inserting himself without asking permission. But no one ever asks Danny  _what do you want?_  And it throws him. 

“Mmmm,” Harry says in response to Danny’s silence. “I see I have my work cut out for me.” 

Danny chuckles and pulls Harry back against him, savoring the return of his smooth skin, his body’s heat. “Thank you for asking, but I think what I’d really like is for you to show me  _your_  London. Take me somewhere that means something to you. And then maybe take me back to the club for dinner?”

Harry’s laughing softly, and Danny feels the vibrations against him. “Sounds perfect,” he says, and turns in Danny’s arms for a kiss that is already deliciously familiar. 

Yeah, Danny could definitely get used to this.

And he could definitely get use to the rest of it as well. Their day is spent mostly in lazily wandering London’s bustling streets. And there is window shopping, and actual shopping—which does, yes, include stops at some clothing boutiques where Harry wants to see Danny try on certain things. And ohh, it’s even better than Danny’d imagined, though they stop short of anything that could get them in the kind of trouble Harry couldn’t easily get them out of... which isn’t really saying much because evidently Harry could get out of just about anything.

There aren’t many people still at the club by the time they get there, and things have been a bit slow all evening anyway, so Holly joins them for a while, sharing a drink and some conversation. 

She reminds Danny of a friend of his from college, and she says he reminds her of someone she once knew, and Harry smiles fondly between the two of them, as though lost in some memory of his own. It’s nice, Danny thinks, having a woman to talk to who’s not related to him or a coworker or an ex. He misses that, as he's reminded how comforting it is to have someone to talk to about the more emotional things. It’s something he’s always wished he had with Steve.... But that’s a dangerous thought right now—one she evidently senses from him, because while Harry leaves them to go talk to someone at one of the other tables (which is just an excuse, Danny’s sure of it, for letting him alone with Holly—or Holly alone with him, he’s not sure which), she says something that settles somewhere deep within him.

“They can, you know,” she begins, looking after Harry as he walks away. “Open up. The super spies, that is.” She smiles at Danny. “They fight it, because it’s a weakness and it’s exploitable. But they are capable of it, and when they do... it’s worth it.”

“Has  _he_?” Danny asks, because it’s much more comfortable to talk about Harry than Steve, and because he senses Holly knows Harry better than... well, better than anyone else still alive.

She tilts her head amusedly. “He’s not who I meant, but he has his moments. He’s not entirely as damaged as he likes to let on. That Daniel Craig really impacted their whole mystique.”

“Oh, they follow that, do they?”

“The MI6 boys? Bond films?” She grins and draws a breath. “They like you to think they don’t, but most of them do, yes. There  _are_  those who do not. Harry is not one of them. Harry knows full well. It’s part of his charm—he never quite tips all the way into what could so easily be an absurdity. He’s too self aware. And too easily amused by it all. In spite of everything.”

Danny instantly knows she’s talking about the loss of Harry’s wife. “Did you know her?”

“Jo?  _Yeah_. She was my best friend.”

“Oh, god. I’m sorry.”

Holly smiles, something he recognizes flashing deeply in her olive green eyes. They’re almost hazel like Steve’s, and maybe it’s that, maybe it’s the sorrow over the loss. It reminds Danny of Steve enough that it stings, but feels strangely comforting. 

“It’s why I look after him,” she says, eyes glancing over to where Harry’s being gracious and entertaining with an important-looking older couple Danny thinks he probably should recognize. “Well. In part,” she says, and he thinks maybe she’s blushing. Her cheeks are so naturally rosy it’s difficult to be sure. “He and I were friends first. I’m... actually, I’m how they met.” She bites her lip, and Danny’s fairly sure there’s more there, but he doesn’t push. And she’s grateful. “Thank you, by the way. For your role in catching him.... Thank you.” She reaches across the table and squeezes his hand. “Another drink?”

He recognizes the attempt at distraction for what it is, and he’s practiced enough at using them himself. And because he’s finding he’s growing to really like her, he does. “Would you show me some of them? Your ingredients?”

Holly looks around the club. There’s only a few tables left, and they’re mostly on dessert. “Yeah, love to. Come on.”

Turns out Danny was right. Most of the liquors behind the bar are things Holly’s made herself. Some are things like the borage gin, where she’s simply steeped fresh borage flowers in a basic gin. Others are a bit more complex.

“Borage soothes the heart—well, you know that now. Since the flowers sort of taste like cucumber, they go really nicely with a gin that’s not already too floral.” She pulls out a bottle of a pale pink syrupy liquid. “Harry’s drink I made with something closer to home. A rose hip liquor.” She pours a splash into a shot glass and hands it to Danny. It’s sweet and it smells vaguely familiar. The taste is lightly spicy and almost tangy. “Add some fresh honeysuckle syrup.” She adds a small spoonful of that to the glass, and it mellows the taste into something that somehow reminds him of childhood. “They’re about joy and... letting past attachments go. But they can be playful and loving as well.” 

She smiles at him, pleased by his reaction, as though he’s tasted what she’s talking about. He’s fascinated. It’s like cooking is for him, reminds him of what he loves about using his grandmother’s recipes. 

“Where do you get the plants? Is there a garden on the roof?”

Holly laughs. “That’s a fantastic idea. No, I go home for that. I’ve got my grandmother’s old cottage and perpetually overgrown garden, down in Sussex. The house is barely habitable, but the garden is still magic.”

Danny lifts an eyebrow at her use of the word. “Now, that, I’ll believe.”

Holly’s smile turns just slightly sly, and it’s a softest echo of Harry’s standard grin, and it warms Danny’s heart, and endears her to him even more.

“You two getting into trouble without me?” The owner of said grin asks, sliding up to the bar and watching them with fond and trusting eyes, completely belying the teasing in his tone.

“Learning about her botanical secrets,” Danny replies. 

“Her garden is an adventure,” Harry says, winking at her. “I’m never entirely sure she’s not trying to poison me.” 

“If I wanted to, you’d never know, my sweet.”

And Danny’s certain in that moment she really is a spy. And even more certain he likes her.

  
The next couple days are essentially the same. Lazy mornings in, middle of the day exploring Harry’s favorite spots, and evenings at the club. Always with fabulous food and enchanting drinks and playful, insightful conversation. He wishes it could last forever. 

Danny never actually says  _yes_  to Harry’s proposal, but he never says no, and Harry doesn’t ask again. It’s a little like he’s not giving Danny a choice, and Danny’s pretty sure he doesn’t mind. 

But all too soon the time comes for Rachel and the kids to return to England, then they have two days back with the grandparents before they all return to Hawaii. Danny feels it in his blood—he can’t leave Harry yet. So he bows out of returning to the Hollander’s, and he even manages to not feel guilty about that (especially once Rachel tells him Rupert’s staying on as well). When she asks how his visit with his friend has been, he evades as best he can. But his response is evidently more vague than she’d like, because Grace tries (and fails) to get details from him later that evening. 

Danny meanwhile, is himself curious about how the Parisian jaunt went, but no one seems to want to give  _him_  an answer other than that the apartment was beautiful, the view of the Seine amazing, and yes, croissants really are better when eaten at a sidewalk café surrounded by snobby French people. The most helpful information Danny gets is from Charlie, who says that mommy was in a really good mood the whole time and let him have lots of chocolate. Danny can make his own guesses from that, thanks.

It’s not exactly like Danny can complain. 

Except. He and Harry have not talked about him leaving. Danny hasn’t wanted to think about it, because honestly things have just been getting really stunningly good between them, and Danny’s afraid his heart is going to crumble when he has to leave. But he can’t justify staying longer and he’s fairly sure Harry can’t just come with him back to Hawaii.... Can he? It’s never been entirely clear to Danny just how “active” an agent Harry still is. After the whole failed retirement thing, Danny knows Harry reactivated on some level. But other than a couple covert phone calls and some brief conversations with George the valet and a few extended chats with Holly, well... Harry certainly gives the impression of a  _man of leisure_. (Danny can’t believe he’s used those words to refer to someone he’s sleeping with. How is this his life now? Seriously.)

Turns out he need not have worried. When Harry offered to have an affair with Danny, he was evidently being quite serious, because the day before they’re meant to return home, Harry announces that everything’s taken care of. 

Oh, and he does mean  _everything_. 

He’s arranged to borrow a plane from a friend who is in Tokyo on business and has been delayed and now wishes he’d brought it. So if Harry flies it to Hawaii, he’ll pick it up in there and consider it fair trade. Danny’s reasonably sure there’s more to that story than Harry’s letting on, but decides to squint and accept it.

Furthermore, Harry evidently has some “business” of his own to take care of. He’s been putting it off for too long, and he can do it just as easily from Hawaii as from anywhere else, so the timing is perfect. 

Danny definitely doesn’t want to look too closely at that either.

Rachel blusters a bit at the offer of switching their return flight to a private plane, but she can’t deny that avoiding the airport and an over-crowded commercial jet will be much nicer for a still easily worn out Grace. And then Charlie overhears her speaking about it, and she can’t really say  _no_  after that. 

Truth be told, Danny’s a little nervous about how Harry will react to Rachel, after everything Danny’s told him. Proper English politeness aside, Harry’s not really all that good at disguising his opinions of people, and he’s been completely plain with Danny about what he thinks of her actions. But then he  _is_  a charmer, so it’s possible Rachel will never know. Or she’ll be too distracted by what  _will_  be obvious to her—that Danny’s been sleeping with Harry. 

As it turns out, since Rupert drives them to the airfield to meet Danny and Harry at the plane, Rachel is too much in a tizzy herself to fully grasp anything about who Danny’s sleeping with or anything else. 

Rupert, however, does notice. And grins broadly at Danny—in approval, he’s fairly certain. 

Danny gets the kids on the plane, giving Rachel a chance for a proper goodbye, which he knows will merely be a “see you soon.” 

She and Charlie wave out the windows till they can’t see him anymore, and then Charlie, evidently no longer concerned with flying when the plane is their own, asks if he can sit up with Harry, who says “only if Charlie is willing to help”—which of course is perfectly the right thing to have said. And the fact that Danny said nothing to Harry about it, that he knew all on his own, well it does the strangest things to Danny’s insides. And  _that’s_  when Rachel notices. 

“You’re glowing,” she says, grinning at him.

“I might say the same of you.”

She blushes, her hair falling into her eyes—he tries to stop himself from thinking “sweetly,” but he can’t. 

“It suits you,” she says, squeezing his hand, then turns away, settling into her seat, pulling a blanket up around her as though she might wrap the memory of Paris close and keep it warm. 

He smiles at her for a bit till it seems she’s drifted off—which is when he notices Grace is eying him oddly. 

He sighs, raises his eyebrows at her, which has the effect of intensifying the expression. He moves to sit next to her, leans back, closing his eyes, and whispers, “Stop looking at me like that, Grace.”

There’s a pause, where he thinks maybe she won’t reply. But then a breath. “I get it, dad. He’s hot.”

It takes a lot of restraint on Danny’s part to keep himself from sitting bolt upright and putting his hand over her mouth. “Oh my god stop talking.”

Her tone softens. He feels her hand on his arm. “No, I mean, I can see why you’re attracted to him....”

“ _But_?” (Because of course he knows there’s a  _but_.) He looks at her. Waiting. Though he’s pretty sure he knows....

She bites her lips together so hard there’s no way it doesn’t hurt. Then the barest shake of her head, and she’s still so fragile, it hurts him. Not that she complains. She’s never complained once. (Another thing she gets from Steve, Danny can’t help but think.) But she winces even from that slight movement, and it’s like a fucking knife in the heart for Danny. Her words are the twist of the blade. “ _He’s not Steve_ ,” she whispers, eyes closing, as though she’s afraid of what his reaction will be. Of what she might see in her dad’s eyes.

And Danny’s heart breaks a little more. Because he’s not the only one who has held, all these years, onto some strange hope that Uncle Steve would someday be more than Uncle Steve. He deflates like he’s been punctured. Which, he kind of has. He reaches down between them, takes her hand in his. It’s soft, and warm, and it’s not nearly as small as he remembers it. “I know, monkey. I know.” She squeezes back.

When she too falls asleep, Danny moves to the front with Harry and Charlie, who has also fallen asleep—in the co-pilot’s seat. He carries him back to the seat next to Rachel, then returns to sit with Harry. 

“Everything okay?” Harry asks softly, watching Danny with concern as he sinks a bit too heavily into the seat. He reaches out a hand towards Harry, needing the contact, but not wanting to disrupt his flying. Harry grabs his hand and squeezes it. “Tell me?” He asks gently.

“I’m happy for her. I am.” He shakes his head. “Of course I am. She and I are so much better as... I can’t really call it friends, but we do not work together well as a couple. I know this. It’s not like we haven’t tried. Repeatedly. It just... it just doesn’t work.”

“Hard to let it go, though. Because of the kids.”

“Yeah, because of the kids, because of that history. But also just... dammit, she gets under my skin.”

Harry shrugs. “So let it.”

“What?”

“Danny, stop trying to fight it. Acknowledge it, and make peace with it, but don’t try and pretend it’s not real. That’s the only way you can release yourself from it. If you acknowledge it’s real, you can let it still exist but not affect you.”

“What the hell is your degree in, psychology?”

He laughs. “No, but I shared a flat with Holly at university.”

“Ah,” Danny says, puzzle pieces clicking together.

“She, ah... she was Joanna’s girlfriend.”

And there’s the other piece. “Oh my god, Harry, you didn’t.”

“They were better as friends,” Harry echoes and Danny’s mouth drops. Harry smiles fondly. “In my defense, _I_ was sleeping with Holly first.”

Danny laughs. “That’s your  _defense?_ And I thought you Brits were prudes.”

“Oh, we are. And it was all Jo. Holly and I were just along for the ride.”

Danny shakes his head in amazement. “Oh, I wish I’d known her.”

“Me too,” Harry says softly, and Danny knows he means it.

Danny gets up and lowers himself at Harry’s side. “I am very glad we’re doing this,” he says, softly, and Harry reaches his arm out and places it around Danny as best he can.

“Good,” he says, nodding, then turns and looks into Danny’s eyes, and it’s like Danny can see layers peeling away. He’s being let in, he realizes. Maybe not as much as Holly is, not as much as Joanna had been... but further than maybe anyone since. And it feels amazing. Holly was right, he acknowledges. It is possible, and it is worth it.

It gives him hope.

  
Steve meets them at the airstrip, with Lou’s truck so they all fit. And Harry’s the first to greet him, and Danny’s sure that’s by design. His words carry across the tarmac, “Steven, so good of you to fetch us!” But his next words are carefully spoken in an undertone no one but Steve can hear. Danny wishes he could read lips. He’s not sure he needs to, however, as whatever he’s said is clearly about Danny, because Steve turns to look at him, and something flashes through his eyes that Danny swears he’s seen before... if only he could place  _when_. His expression lands, however, on a look Danny does know. And it’s a look he’s not seen from Steve in a very long time. Danny used to call it his wounded puppy look. When Steve had been hurt, but then looked at Danny like he’d hung the moon and would make it all better. It’s the most hopeful moment he’s had with Steve in months, and he hates that it only lasts a few seconds, before Steve’s moved into Protective Uncle Steve mode and is helping Grace with her things, and seriously it’s like he’s actively holding himself back from carrying her to the truck.

Steve takes Rachel and the kids home first, and that’s its own ball of awkward. 

Charlie very graciously thanks Harry for the ride in the fancy airplane, and Grace looks like she wants to say something she doesn’t dare put words to, but she hugs Steve and whispers something in his ear that makes him blush, so maybe she does dare more than Danny imagines. She also hugs Harry, for which Danny is grateful, but it’s stiffer than the hug she gave Steve and Danny knows Harry won’t have missed that. 

Even Rachel hugs Harry, and maybe she’s less reason to be standoffish with him, or maybe she’s just grateful he soothed her own guilt for having ditched Danny yet again, or maybe it’s just that sunshine bright Harry Langford magnetism.

She hugs Steve as well, their bond from Grace’s accident still not completely broken, though Danny’s sure that’s just a matter of time, before Steve picks back up the mantle of blaming her for keeping Charlie from Danny for those many years.

Things are awkward for a moment when the three of them get back in the truck, and Danny makes Harry sit in front with Steve mostly because he wants to be able to watch Steve in the rear view mirror. And okay, maybe that’s bad, but he’s very uneasy about how this will play out, and he’s going to take whatever comfort he can find with it.

He’s not disappointed. Steve watches him in the rearview more than he watches the road, and he’s not at all sure what passes between them, but it means something.

  
Harry and Danny fall, maybe too easily, into a cozy intimacy. Living with someone new is never a peaceful transition. But it is with Harry. Everything is easy, everything is simple. They seem to be perfectly suited, evenly matched, and Danny’s tempted to put that down to Harry’s breeding, his training, but he thinks it’s actually deeper than that—they simply get along beautifully. 

They manage cooking and dishwashing with something Danny almost wants to call elegance. They like the same programs, but also like reading over a glass of port. Things Danny would never do with Steve—well, never has. And, okay, Harry gets the expensive coffee, the good chocolate. And somehow, when he does the laundry, the towels come out fluffier, the sheets softer, even his underwear feels nicer when Harry does the wash. 

And, yes. Having a warm body in his bed at night is nice. More than nice. It’s fucking fantastic, okay? And, let’s face it, we’re not just talking about any warm body. We’re talking about a really stunningly hot body. And the sex is... damn. It’s more satisfying than any regular sex Danny’s ever had. Maybe eventually he’ll get used to it? He doubts it. He’s never had such amazing orgasms. Never felt so satisfied from a simple hand job. He feels fuller, more content, more satisfied than he’s ever felt in his life.

Which makes the fact that all of it feels just the tiniest bit hollow cut all the deeper.

Because Grace, of course, is right.

_He’s not Steve_.

And, well, fuck. Danny keeps trying to shove that thought out of his head. And it keeps not working.

Harry knows. And maybe that makes it easier, maybe it makes it harder, Danny’s not sure. He aims to be supportive. At night when he’s giving Danny a foot rub with this amazing peppermint lotion that makes Danny’s toes tingle—very much like they tingle when Harry sucks him off in the morning after bringing him some of that fabulous coffee—Harry says things that are encouraging. Things about Steve. Harry has this idea that Steve’s processing. That he’s got a lot to get over, and that he needs to do it before he can be open to a relationship with Danny. Danny thinks that’s bullshit, thinks a relationship is about working  _through_  that stuff, but Harry tries, gently, to explain that for some people (Danny knows he means SEALs and Secret Agents) it just can’t work that way. It irritates Danny, but he tries to see Harry’s point—something that’s made easier when Harry brings him chocolate and red wine and offers to do the dishes while Danny reads his book. Especially when Harry follows that up with washing Danny from tip to toe in the shower and then fucking him until he melts into a contented pile of goo. And when Harry wraps Danny up in those strong arms, and he whispers “Be patient, Danny, it’ll be worth it,” Danny cries a little, but then sleeps. And if Harry wakes him up with coffee and a blow job, well, alright, it helps, okay?

It helps, too, when Harry brings him lunch when he’s stuck at his desk with a backlog of paperwork. Or an extra coffee during one of those extra long cases. Or when he makes dinner. Or does the shopping. Danny’s never been so pampered. And he knows it won’t last, so he actually lets himself enjoy it. 

But the things he enjoys the most are the really little things. Brushing their teeth at the same time, doing that little dance at the sink, taking turns spitting and rinsing. Leaning sleepily against each other in kitchen in the morning while the coffee brews. That lingering lazy morning kiss before heading out the door for the chaos of day. The soft brush of Harry’s hand against his before they get out of the car. Harry’s smile at him across the tech table when the others are out on a case and it’s the two of them together on comms again. 

And then there’s Steve. And the whole how-he’s-taking-this. Which remains something of a puzzle to Danny. Harry’s initial point had been that if Steve had taken him seriously as Danny’s boyfriend, he’d have given him some kind of threatening “if you hurt him I’ll kill you” lecture. Danny didn’t buy it, mostly because he couldn’t really see anyone doing that for him. But the thing is, after that initial dose of shock, Steve’s barely reacted at all. In fact, he almost seems to be ignoring the situation. Which probably is helped by the fact that Danny and Harry are very subtle in public. Especially compared to how Danny and Steve always used to be. 

And there, actually, is the bigger change. And it has ebbed and flowed over the years anyway, but Steve has been, ever since Joe’s death, he’s been unusually standoffish. That hug they’d shared before Danny’d left for London had been the rare occurrence of prolonged touching between them in what feels like a very long time. The usual arms slung around each other, the sitting too close... those just haven’t been there. And Danny and Harry are not like that in public. So it winds up feeling slightly uncomfortable when they all go for beers after work and everyone keeps physically to themselves. Danny’s always relieved when they get home and Harry more than makes up for his lack of public affection in the privacy of Danny’s home. And maybe that’s how it should be. Maybe it’s safer, and probably it’s better—certainly it’s more professional. 

But he misses it, okay? He misses that easy physicality he and Steve always had. He misses it a lot. 

Harry’s the one who brings it up. 

“Don’t you think. If it hadn’t meant anything. Don’t you think he’d still be doing it? I’m not exactly territorial over you. Not like he’s always been.”

And Danny doesn’t want to admit it, but Harry does have a point. The only way Steve not being himself around Danny makes any sense is if he’s feeling displaced by Harry. 

Or, that  _would_  be the case, if he hadn’t already been distant before Danny went to London and came back with Harry. 

Danny doesn’t know what to think, is the point. But Harry seems convinced, and okay, maybe Danny lets that comfort him a little. 

And then he lets Harry comfort him a lot. 

  
Harry hasn’t made it clear how long he’ll be in town, but Danny doesn’t plan on taking his presence for granted. Each time with them is special, each moment precious. Danny would wrap them up and keep them under his pillow if he could. So that when Harry’s no longer in his bed keeping him warm he can at least have the memory of it to comfort him. 

“Stop counting our hours together, Daniel,” Harry scolds. He’s very good at recognizing when Danny’s gone too much in his head. And he’s getting rather skilled at bringing him back out. “I’m not leaving till it’s time. Don’t worry. You’ll have had your fill of me by then.”

They’re lying in bed together late one evening, after a rather intense round of comforting each other, and yeah, Danny’s been dwelling a little too much on being physically aware of just how incredibly much he’s going to miss Harry when the inevitable happens and he’s on that plane back to England—or to realms even more distant (although, yes, technically some of those further realms are probably closer than England because thanks for pointing that out, London is kind of ridiculously far from Honolulu, and doesn’t Danny know it). 

But there’s something new in Harry’s tone tonight, and it makes Danny’s heart hurt.

“Hey. What’re you always telling me about selling myself short? Don’t you do that either, Harry. No one’s ever treated me like you do. But has anyone ever treated  _you_  like this?”

Danny knows he’s getting the better end of this deal. But it has been Harry leading it, and it’s not like Danny has much to offer. He hopes he makes up for it in his way, with food and with sex, but also with companionship and understanding. And he knows Harry ranks those last two, those rare commodities, very highly. He’s admitted to Danny that he hasn’t had either, not since Joanna. 

But Danny wonders if Harry has been pampered the way he pampers Danny. Because it doesn’t seem like something you just know how to do. Surely it’s learned—and ohhh, of course it is.  _Spy school_. British Secret Service no doubt has a more extensive finishing program than oh, say the US Navy SEALs do. Obviously.

And it’s as though Harry’s watched all of that in Danny’s eyes. He smiles, and it’s a little bit sad. He sighs, takes a long, slow, deep breath. “Oh, I was much younger then. It was still considered correct that an MI6 agent have a certain...  _background_. Breeding, yes, but mannerisms and sense of style as well. You can select for those things, but you can instill them as well. I had a little bit of the natural, but I had a mentor who... believed in teaching by example. But that was a very long time ago.”

Danny knows, the way he ends the sentence, he won’t be getting more out of him, at least not anytime soon. But it’s switched something for Danny, something deep in his gut, and it almost feels dangerous. 

“I can’t play on that level, you know I can’t. But I’m realizing maybe you use some of that bluster—I won’t call it posturing because you can call it training, but it’s very much a part of you. Very much who you are now, and maybe there’s an edge of playfulness to it, which I love by the way, that you don’t take yourself too seriously unlike some people I know. But you  _do_  use it to protect yourself. And I get that, god, Harry, of course I do. But don’t do that with me, okay? You don’t need to do that with me.”

He watches, as Harry follows his meaning, and he sees when the glistening of moisture gathers in the corners of Harry’s eyes. His lips press together, and he nods. “I know. And thank you for saying it. But I know. That’s why... you remember saying it was unfair to me? This is why it’s not.”

Danny leans down over Harry, looks into his eyes, smiles, kisses him lightly on the lips. “I do love you, you know. It’s different... but it means the world to me just the same.”

Harry laughs roughly through the tears he doesn’t want to let fall, and pulls Danny down against his chest. A whispered “Me, too,” Danny thinks, is the closest Harry’s gotten to those three words since the death of his wife. Maybe it’s as close as he’ll ever get. And that means more to Danny than he could ever hope to say.

It shifts things for them. They talk more intimately, spend more time with kisses and soft words than aggressively attentive love making. They become much more demonstrative. Well. In  _private (_ Harry’s still English after all) but around the team. They lean up against each other more, hug more, Harry even starts giving Danny little kisses on the cheek, and Danny has moments where he thinks... if he just let it... he might actually fall all the way in love with Harry. But every time he catches himself thinking that he starts to panic, so he’s obviously not ready for that just yet, but there is something comforting about the possibility even existing. And maybe it helps him relax more around Harry... as in, when Steve’s around. His gestures with Harry had been—intentionally perhaps—different than they had with Steve, but as he becomes more at ease with their relationship, he slides more into Usual Danny territory. He bumps up against Harry as he used to do with Steve, slides against him to get that arm up around his shoulders, and just generally starts being more himself.

And that starts to affect Steve. 

At first Danny doesn’t realize what’s happened, Steve just seems to be in an unpleasant mood, but that’s not been very unusual lately, so he brushes it off. Until eventually it gets to the point he can’t really ignore it anymore and he figures he has two choices. Ask his boyfriend to beat Steve up. Or confront him himself.

He really seriously considers asking Harry to do it.

It takes a while for the opportunity to present itself, but one day, when Harry’s got his other business to attend to, and it’s Lou’s golf day, and Steve’s sent the kids on a case with Adam, Danny steels his nerves, wishes he was the kind of cop who kept a bottle of whiskey in his bottom desk drawer, and walks into Steve’s office.

“Do you have a problem with me dating Harry?”

Steve scoffs, but takes a while to answer. “What, you’re asking me this now?”

“Yeah. I am. Obviously.”

“No, I just mean... why now?”

“When should I have asked you?”

And he’s pretty sure Steve doesn’t mean to say it, but it comes out anyway. “I don’t know, before you started?”

“What, I’m supposed to ask your permission for who I date, am I?”

Even Steve doesn’t have the guts to answer that. Though, the way he looks at the floor seems to indicate that, yeah, that is kind of how he feels. Danny wants to punch something. Preferably Steve, but he’d take a nice solid wall at this point.

“You seemed happy enough about it when we came back from England.”

Steve huffs out a breath that must be sharper than he intended because he looks startled after. “I uh. I didn’t think he’d be around that long.”

“Oh, so it’s okay for me to be happy for the short term, but not for too long? What, I have to stay as miserable as you are?”

“Danny....”

“No, I think I deserve an answer here, Steven. Is that what you want? For us to be miserable together? Huh? End up two grouchy old men still going at it in our old age because neither of us could ever let anyone in for longer than a few months?”

“ _Danny_.”

“ _What_ , Steven?”

Steve somehow pulls himself together. Pushes up off his desk, walks over to Danny, grabs him by the arms, and looks into his eyes.

“Of course I want you to be happy. And if Harry makes you happy, then I’m happy. Okay?”

And, alright, maybe that wasn’t what Danny was expecting. It catches him off guard. Kind of a lot. And the really frustrating thing is, he doesn’t want to punch Steve anymore. Now he’s this close, touching him, looking so deeply into his eyes. He doesn’t want to punch him.  _Fuck_. He wants to kiss him. Badly.

The thought makes him twitch slightly in Steve’s grasp, and Steve reacts almost as though he’s been burned and lets Danny go, schooling his face to not react, but not before Danny sees the flash of hurt in his eyes.

“Really, buddy. I’m happy for you. Harry’s a good guy.”

“He’s a  _great_  guy.”

“Yeah. He is.”

They stand there awkwardly, Danny wanting so much to grab Steve back in his arms, pull him close, tell him Harry may be a great guy, but he’s not Steve and that seems to be all that really matters in Danny’s stupid,  _stupid_  heart. But he can’t. Not when it was that easy for Steve to let him go. He may be stupid, but he still has his pride. And he’s not going to beg.

Fortunately Adam calls them for back up, and the rest of the day takes care of itself.

But that night, all through dinner and their usual evening routine, Harry is keenly aware that something has happened. And he doesn’t push Danny, but when Danny tries to pour his hurt into some overly aggressive sex, Harry stops him.

“We don’t do this anymore.” Harry says, holding Danny down on the bed, looking into eyes that can’t seem to focus on Harry or on anything. “If that’s what you want, you go find someone else for it. We moved past this, remember? You want to take out your frustration with Steve, take it out on him. Not on me. You want to cry over him, tell me what happened, I’m here for that. But I’m not your punching bag, Danny.”

And Danny hates himself because this is what he does. Ruins something he has that’s so good, over something he can’t have that’s probably no good anyway. He crumbles. And he wants to cry, because then Harry will hold him, and they can fall asleep and not talk about it and in the morning he can make it up to Harry, make love to him, make him breakfast, and maybe just maybe Harry will let it go.... But he can’t, no tears will fall. And Harry lets him up, and holds him against his chest, and rubs slow circles on his arm, and keeps his other on his head. And it’s so soothing and so calming, and he feels like he’s being gentled into compliance, and maybe he is, maybe this is part of Harry’s training. Probably it is, probably Danny’s an idiot not to think Harry knows all kinds of techniques for getting information out of people. But he doesn’t care because it feels so good. And because he really does love Harry, in the only way he seems able to love someone who’s not Steve. Which is with most of his heart, and probably a lot of his mind. But somehow, not with his soul. And a lot of the time he doesn’t even notice. But when he does, it’s like the entire world is off its axis. Nothing looks right, nothing smells right, nothing tastes right, nothing feels right.

He tells Harry  _everything_.

And Harry holds him through it, and when he’s done, Harry settles them down in the bed. And he whispers “You have to tell him, Danny.”

And Danny shakes his head, violently,  _no_.

And Harry holds him still, holds him so close. “You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t. And I won’t be here for that. I won’t.”

And finally, somehow, Danny can cry. And cry. And cry. And can’t seem to stop, and Harry holds him through it all, shushes him through it all, and just as they’re falling asleep, Danny hears Harry’s barely audible “ _I love you_ ,” whispered against his head, and he can’t respond, he’s too far gone, but he cuddles closer and sighs, and sleeps.

In the morning, they make love. And it’s sweet, and it’s tender, and it’s almost in slow motion. And Danny cries, and he holds Harry close, against his chest, and he runs his fingers through his hair, and he wants to say those words back, but he just can’t.

They stop having sex after that.

They still kiss. Lightly. Occasionally something a little more. And they cuddle. And sleep wrapped tightly together. They even start holding hands, which seems to surprise them both. The intimate conversations still happen, but they veer into more esoteric realms, less personal ones. And they happen less frequently. But they settle into a new routine, and it’s comforting, and it’s mostly satisfying, but there’s this lingering knowledge that it’s not sustainable, and they both know they’re holding on to something that can’t last.

One day, Harry finally says it.

“I need to go back to London.”

And Danny  _panics_. Harry looks at him with the most pained expression Danny’s ever seen on his face. And he calls Steve.

“You need to get over here, now.”

Harry sits with Danny, but he doesn’t touch him. And when Steve shows up, frighteningly fast, Harry stands and backs away as Steve falls to the floor and pulls Danny into his arms. 

Danny doesn’t even see Harry leave the house.

They don’t talk, Steve just holds him. And holds him. And when Danny comes down from it, he falls asleep, and when he wakes, he’s in his bed, and Steve’s there, his body pressed against Danny’s, almost as though he’s shielding him. And when he turns over and looks, he sees Steve’s been crying.

“Hey buddy,” Steve says through his sniffles, wiping his hand across his eyes, but just smearing the moisture across more of his face than truly wiping the tears away. 

Danny reaches up and thumbs some of the wetness away. “Hey yourself.”

“I, um....” Steve chokes on a rough laugh, tries again. “I think maybe we should talk.”

Danny fights the smile his lips so badly want to form, but he bites down on it and nods. “Yeah, I think that’s probably a good idea.”

“But I think we should eat first.”

And it’s not till Steve says it that Danny realizes his stomach is growling and the smell of something delicious is drifting into the room. He looks questioningly at Steve, who shrugs.

“Harry’s making us dinner.”

“ _What?_ ”

“He insisted. Said it was a special meal by order of... Holly? I think I have that right.”

And Danny nearly laughs, because of course, Harry would think of that. 

It’s just a beef stew, but it’s rich and it’s soothing and it’s somehow the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten, but that might be because he’s eating it with Steve. Harry refuses to sit with them, says he has too much to do, but he’s set the dining room table with a white tablecloth Danny’s sure isn’t something he owns, and there’s a white rose just like at the club, and only candles lighting the room, and there’s soft classical music playing in the background, as if by magic. The drinks are different from the ones Holly had made, but they’re bright and botanical, and Danny thinks she must have given Harry some sort of commercial booze short cut or something and it’s not the same, but it feels nearly close. 

Mostly it’s that Steve won’t let his hand go. And he sits far too close. And spends more time looking in Danny’s eyes than at his food. And he has to keep using his napkin to dab at the moisture that keeps reforming at the corners of his eyes. 

Evidently a classic English pudding is what kept Harry so busy, because that’s what dessert is, and there’s no way it came pre-made. Steve’s never had one, and he eats two servings which Danny finds amusing, but Harry finds it absolutely delightful. 

When they’re done, Harry settles them on the sofa with hot toddies—and Harry knows what Danny’s thinking when he looks at him and then at the drinks suspiciously. 

“It only helps you see what’s already there,” Harry says softly, fondness seeping from him onto Danny’s skin.

He grabs a bag from the floor and Steve’s keys off the console. “I’ll go stay with Eddie for the night, you gents take your time. You’ve both got a lot you need to say. I’ll be back in the morning,” and he steps out before either of them can protest, closing the door softly behind him. 

At first they don’t talk, they sip their drinks, and mostly they savor finally sitting like they used to. Although maybe it’s more. It’s been so long Danny’s not sure he remembers correctly. But his side is pressed completely up against Steve’s. And Steve has finally let Danny’s hand go, in favor of having his arm around him. Danny can feel Steve breathing, and he’d somehow never noticed before, how soothing a thing that is to him, but he realizes it now and he can’t imagine how he’s coped without it. 

When they finish their drinks and put them aside, Steve pulls away, turns sideways on the sofa to face Danny. 

“I know there’s a lot we need to say. More than we could possibly say in one night. But there’s something... uhh, there’s something I’ve been needing all day, and I’m just not going to be able to think straight....” He fades off, half uncertain, half frustrated. 

Danny turns to face him and picks up both Steve’s hands in his own. “Just say it, babe.”

Steve huffs out a pained laugh. “Danny, I can I please kiss you?”

He has to bite his lips to keep from smiling too hugely. He nods, because he can’t possibly speak right now. And Steve slips his hands from Danny’s, places them gently—so stunningly gently—on either side of Danny’s face, and leans forward to press the softest, sweetest kiss to Danny’s lips. 

Danny’s eyes have fluttered closed, and when Steve pulls back, too too soon, he whimpers and pushes forwards to capture Steve’s lips in a far more intimate, far hungrier, far more desperate kiss. 

When he finally lets Steve go, and settles back, still sitting sideways so they can talk, Steve looks more flustered than he had before. 

“Oh god now I’m really going to hate myself for keeping us from this for so long.”

Danny sighs. “I know, but that’s not going to get us anywhere, so we just have to ignore that.”

“I don’t know that I can....”

Rubbing his face in his hands, Danny sighs more heavily. “I probably can’t either, but we have to try. Let’s just put it aside for now, because if we start there we’ll never get anywhere good.”

“ _Can_  we get anywhere good?”

“I kinda thought that kiss was good....”

“ _That kiss was amazing_.”

“Okay. So that’s a start.”

Steve hesitates, a frown creasing his brow, and Danny’s heart freezes. “...Harry’s kind of amazing too.”

He huffs out a breath, and it’s like all Danny’s breathing is going to be like this for now. “Yeah. He’s... really....” Danny pauses, lets out a breath on a pained sound, and stops because if he says more, he’s going to start crying. And in that pause, Steve frowns further and presses on.

“I think he really loves you, you know. And I, ah. I wouldn’t blame you if you’d rather....”

And that of course breaks Danny’s silence. “Oh my god shut up. Don’t you  _dare_. He loves me as much as I love him which is a lot of the way but not all the way,” and fuck but now he’s done it and those tears were evidently just waiting. “Because there’s only one person I’ve ever loved all the way you jackass, and that’s you.”

Steve lets out a choked sound that’s almost a laugh. “Well, that’s good. You’re swearing at me, that’s how I know you mean it.”

“I do really mean it,” Danny says as sternly as he can manage with tears rolling down his cheeks. “So while I appreciate your self-sacrificing tendencies, can you please not ever suggest that again.”

“Okay. Promise.”

Danny laughs harshly and wipes his tears on his shirt. 

Steve gives him a moment, then looks tentatively at him. “Now what?”

“Honestly I don’t know. What is there to say, really? We’ve been idiots for ten years and for two hundred different reasons. You really think we’re gonna manage to talk about any of that?”

Steve frowns, which seems to be his new thing, and Danny tries really hard to not find it adorable. “But shouldn’t we try?”

“I’m not sure that we should. Not that stuff, the stuff that doesn’t matter now. But it makes me think of something Harry said to me, way back at the beginning of all this... that you needed to work stuff out before you could be open to a relationship with me....” Danny trails off, hoping Steve will engage just this one thing... so much will hang on it, Danny knows.

“Yeah... that’s probably true. I have been a mess since Joe’s death.... I didn’t want to taint you with that.”

“See that’s just it though. That’s bullshit. That’s not what relationships are about, you can’t pick to start one only when you’re free from damage. None of us would ever have any meaningful relationships that way. The whole point of love is you do it together. Not just the happy smiling hallmark moments. The shit and the heartbreak and the pain and the loss. The whole point of love is that it makes those things survivable. Otherwise there’s no point. Otherwise it’s just passing time. I don’t want to just pass time with you. That’s not what I’m here for. You can’t make yourself perfect for me. I wouldn’t want you to try. I want you. All of you. All of the time. Or nothing. That’s the deal here.”

Steve’s barely breathing, he’s gone perfectly still. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Fuck you. Of course I do, you fucking ass. Of course I do.” 

“Danny—” it’s a deeper, more threatening tone than he’s ever heard from Steve, but he cuts him right off. 

“ _No_.” He grabs Steve’s hands and holds them painfully tight. “That’s the whole point. It doesn’t matter. None of it. Because it’s you. You have to get that through your thick skull.” 

“None of it?”

“ _None of it_.”

“That’s....”

“I know. It’s hard. That’s why trust is so important. So the first rule is never again. Never again do you not tell me everything. That’s the only way this works. And not after. You tell me before.”

He’s afraid now he’s said it, he’ll frighten Steve off for good. Because Steve’s never been able to do that. Never been able to let anyone that far in, not even Catherine. But Danny knows if he’s ever going to do it, it’ll be with Danny. And he’s not giving up. Not now.

Steve takes the longest, slowest breath Danny’s ever heard from him. “If it means I get you. Okay.”

Honestly, Danny’s stunned it was that easy. “I’m not fucking around here Steven. I’m deadly serious.”

“ _So am I_.”

“Okay....” And it’s the oddest echo of that conversation so long ago, Steve sitting on the hood of the Camaro, waiting for Danny outside of Halawa. That day everything changed. The day they truly became partners. 

Danny knows Steve feels it too. 

“ _Okay_.” The briefest of pauses, then: “Now what?”

“Now we sleep because I’m exhausted and you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

Steve sucks in a breath that tells Danny more than he wanted to know.

“You really are a fucking idiot.”

“Yep.” He sounds almost proud. 

They take turns in the shower and they get ready for bed like they’ve done countless times before when they’ve slept over at each other’s houses for countless reasons. Steve even has sleep clothes tucked in a corner of Danny’s dresser drawer. And a tooth brush in the medicine cabinet. It’s always been practical but tonight it feels prophetic. 

It’s not till they settle into bed that it starts to feel strange. They’ve slept beside each other before... usually when one of them has a concussion or some other major injury. And they’d slept beside each other earlier today.... Only, Danny hadn’t been aware of it. And it definitely feels different. Very different.

Eventually they settle on sleeping on their backs... close but not too close, and Steve’s got his hold on Danny’s hand again as though he’ll keep him from vanishing as long as he doesn’t let go. Danny doesn’t mind. It feels right somehow. Like the right next step. And they’re not going to be easy steps, he won’t kid himself about that. They’re going to be hard. And there will be yelling. Probably lots of it. On both their parts. And tears. Maybe even punches. But there will be kisses, too. And a lot more. 

“I’m glad you came,” Danny says on a yawn as he’s about to fall asleep. 

Steve squeezes his hand harder. “I couldn’t be anywhere else.”

And they fall swiftly asleep.

Despite their intentions not to sleep too close, their sleeping selves disagree with that plan, and when they wake in the morning they’re tangled together as though they spent the night trying to get as close as they possibly could. 

Pulling slowly apart, they register the situation with matching, slightly sheepish expressions. 

“I guess we should—”

“Harry said he’d—”

Awkward chuckles fade into sighs. 

“We should get up.”

“Yeah.”

“I slept well. Thank you.”

“Seriously? Did you just thank me for sleep?”

Steve presses his lips together and nods.

“You really haven’t been sleeping, have you.”

Steve has the decency to grimace, but shakes his head no.

“Jesus Steven, that’s not okay. Alright, well there’s our second rule.” 

“God, Danny, how many of these rules are there gonna be?”

“Shut up. As many as it takes.”

Steve looks at him and grins, like not only does he not mind, somehow he actually is pleased by it. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and then I am going to kiss you.”

“You don’t have to announce it or ask, you know. And frankly, I think I can deal with morning breath. You’ve smelled worse.”

Danny’s not sure he can explain it, but he doesn’t want Steve to leave the bed yet. Well, not ever, if he’s honest. But... just not  _yet_.

Steve doesn’t object. He falls back against the pillows, landing at Danny’s side, gazing into his eyes with amusement and warmth, and Danny tries to suppress actual shivers. He fails though, and Steve sees it, and grins wolfishly. He nuzzles at Danny’s neck, nearly purring.

“I knew I was going to get bossed around. I guess I should have known I’d be insulted as well.”

And, of course, banter with them would be pillow talk.  _Of course it would_. Danny wants to laugh, because part of him always felt their banter was a bit on the intimate side of things. Now he knows why. So his reply is easy:

“All in the name of love, babe. All in the name of love.”

“You have some really strange ideas about love, buddy,” Steve chuckles, pulling away from his place against Danny’s neck. But then Danny kisses him, and he’s pretty sure Steve’s not complaining. 

They do get up, though. And they brush their teeth, and change into their workday clothes. And Steve’s making scrambled eggs and Danny’s just brewed a pot of coffee when Harry shows up, looking bright eyed and bushy tailed and not at all as though he’s in one day gone from having a live-in boyfriend to being on his own again, and god, Danny loves him for it. 

“Morning, gents!” Harry calls out fondly, slapping Steve on the back and accepting a warm hug and kiss on the cheek from Danny. “I made scones, and Eddie sends his love. At least, I assume that’s what he meant when he licked my arm.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Steve says, handing Harry a mug of coffee and accepting a bite of scone. “Man those are good, you sure you don’t want to keep him, Danny?”

Danny punches Steve on the arm and hisses “What did I say to you about that?”

But Harry just smiles smugly. “That’s alright, Danny, I don’t mind.” He puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder. Looks into his eyes. “He’s yours Steven, he was never really was mine. But if you ever hurt him, I  _will_  kill you.”

“He will, too, babe,” Danny says it lightly, but Harry looks completely serious, and Steve gulps.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, without a hint of humor. 

Harry drops his hand and takes a sip of coffee, and then as though he’s saying that’s enough of that, he turns to the food. “Those eggs look good. I was thinking we should surf today after work. I leave in the morning, and I’d like to spend my last night here on the beach.”

“Sounds perfect,” Steve says grinning. 

And it pretty much is. Except that every time Danny catches Harry looking fondly at him he wants to wrap him up in a hug and tell him how much he means to him. Present tense. Forever tense. He’s not just some fling he’s gonna forget in a few months, and he really desperately needs Harry to know that. 

He gets his chance, while they’re sitting out at Kamekona’s after surfing, just the three of them, feasting on Harry’s favorite garlic shrimp. (Which he makes a point of saying is still “yummy,” much to Steve’s amusement.)

Steve’s gotten up to get more beers, and Harry and Danny are sitting across from one another. Danny looks intently into those deep blue eyes and takes a breath to talk, but Harry stops him. 

“ _Don’t_. I know, I feel the same. And you can remind me some gloomy day when I need to hear it, but don’t tell me now. It’ll just make me cry.”

Danny sighs, and stretches his bare feet out under the table to rest against Harry’s. “I’ll hold you to that. But you gotta promise to call me any time you need to hear it, okay?” 

Harry slides his feet closer to Danny, so their legs are resting against each other. “ _Promise_.”

  
Settling in with Steve is so much harder that it was with Harry. But then, life with Steve was never going to be as easy and as elegant as life with Harry. They bicker. They argue about everything. But they often are kissing at the same time, and that’s another thing Danny thinks he’d known would probably be the case. 

The laundry doesn’t come out as fluffy when Steve does it. But he does Danny’s ironing, and does it perfectly, which considering Danny’s pretty sure Steve never irons his own work clothes, surprises him. Steve doesn’t buy the most expensive coffee, though he does buy Kona coffee, and he makes it really strong, which Danny likes. Danny buys himself the good chocolate, but Steve keeps the freezer stocked with peppermint patties, and Danny’d forgotten how much he likes those. Steve watches Danny’s programs with him, though he usually gets distracted half way through and starts trying to make out with Danny... and okay, he sometimes doesn’t mind that it takes them two days to finish a show. Steve plays games on his phone while Danny reads, but he sits quietly, and sometimes he puts his bare feet in Danny’s lap, and he did not see that one coming and he can’t really say why, but oh my god he loves it. Danny still sometimes drinks port, but Steve thinks it’s too sweet, so he drinks whiskey instead. But Danny likes whiskey too. And Steve still can’t sit quietly through one of Danny’s more emotional movies, but he learns the roster of the Mets so he can talk about the team with Danny, and that makes Danny’s heart go squishy. 

There’s more take out. And fewer candles. More surfing and fewer philosophical conversations. And yes, there’s a lot more yelling. But there’s also a lot more laughter. Maybe there are fewer soft romantic gestures, but there is a whole lot more public touching of the overtly claiming kind. The possessive, come any closer and I’ll beat you up kind. It’s as though Steve’s making up for those lost months, or maybe he’s always been holding back. Because he’s always been touchy and territorial, but he manages to take it to new heights, and there’s simply no way now that anyone watching could miss it. They’re clearly a couple.

The sex is a little bit awkward for a while until they hit their stride, and even then, it’s different from how it was with Harry. It’s not exactly as intense, but ohhh, it’s so much  _deeper_. Danny is amazed at how incredibly  _emotional_  sex with Steve is. It’s a completely different experience from any he’s had before, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. Steve fills his whole soul. His whole heart. He’s never felt that before and it’s sometimes almost too much. It feels like it’ll split him apart. And he loves it more than he’d ever imagined possible. 

They talk, sometimes, usually late at night or too early in the morning, after the really hard cases, about their issues... their worries, their traumas, their wounds. The things they can’t let go, the things they don’t like to admit. And probably they talk less about it than they should, but they  _do_  talk about it, and Danny thinks that’s what’s important. Not solving the problems, but admitting them—not shoving them under the rug—and knowing they’ll always always try to make it better for each other, in any way they can. 

Steve has a hard time with it at first, with the talking. But once Danny figures out that it’s mostly because when Steve does start to let stuff out it quickly overwhelms him, he has an easier way forward. They work on safe spaces and safe words and the idea that little by little things improve—the idea that things won’t get easier, but that he’ll get better at facing them, and Steve likes that way of looking at it, which makes Danny hopeful. 

They’re slow to tell people. So slow that mostly by the time they do, everyone’s already figured it out. 

Grace is over the moon. The first time Steve’s over for a Wednesday night, she knows. Steve’s making roasted chicken and potatoes while Danny makes salad and the kids are supposed to be doing their homework at the kitchen table, but she can’t stop looking up at them, watching as they fuss together over the food, and grinning so hugely that Danny finally sends her out to set the table. She kisses them both on the cheek on her way, and when she offers to do Charlie’s bedtime story so they can have some time together, Danny rolls his eyes, but Steve thanks her, and settles Danny against him on the sofa to read. When she comes back out, not too long after, she sits on the coffee table in front of them, legs crossed. And grins like the cat that got the cream.

“So? Are you moving in here or are we moving to yours?”

And they’ve not talked about it, it’s far too soon for that. So they look at each other and stammer awkwardly. But Grace isn’t in the least thrown. She just plows ahead, deciding for them.

“I vote Steve’s, it’s closer to Charlie’s school and to the good surfing.” And as though that settles everything, she gets up to go finish her homework. But then, over her shoulder, she tosses back at them a casual “Oh, and I’m wearing blue for the wedding.”

And, that. That  _really_  leaves Danny with his mouth hanging open. But Steve just grins. “Sounds perfect to me, Gracie.”

She looks at her dad with the hugest, happiest grin that, yeah, really is an echo of Steve’s and doesn’t that just make Danny’s heart ache. And he can’t help but feel she’s had that idea in her head for a few too many years. 

Charlie doesn’t really understand the difference because  _of course Danno and Uncle Steve are in love, they always have been and why is everyone being so weird about it?_  He does say something, though, the first time he goes to wake Danny by jumping on the bed and finds Steve there as well, rather than out on the sofa.

“Oh, are you out of the dog house now, Uncle Steve? That’s good. Bed is so much nicer, isn’t it.”

And Steve agrees, as does Danny. Wholeheartedly.

Even Rachel seems pleased. But then Rachel’s pleased about everything these days. Rupert’s been stopping in Hawaii for a few days every time he flies between London and Hong Kong or London and Sidney, which is at least once a month. She’s been over to Paris twice in that time as well, and he’s started talking about Hawaii making much more sense as a base for him than England... and she’s not said  _no_.

Of course Steve and Rupert get along fabulously and he and Charlie have already planned to teach him to surf on his next visit. Danny and Rupert meanwhile haven’t had the “If you hurt her I’ll kill you” conversation mostly because it’s utterly unclear which of them should have said it to whom when. But they do get along probably better than Rachel is truly comfortable with, even establishing, within his first two visits, a standing date for beers and pool, just the two of them. Sometimes Danny almost regrets not having found out what Rupert is like in bed, and he’s reasonably sure the notion is returned. But it only fuels some playful flirting between them, and a good humor Danny knows will pay off if they’re going to be so much in each other’s lives. 

Besides. If he’d gone to Paris, he’d have missed out on one of the most important relationships of his life. Not to mention possibly never gotten together with Steve.

Danny’s favorite visit though, is absolutely when Mary and Joanie finally make it out, and Mary actually cries in joy on Danny’s shoulder.

“This is going to sound dumb, because I know I have a brother already, but, I’m really glad I have you now too, and I love Steve, but you’re so much better with sisters.”

And he knows she’s saying it partly to torment Steve, but he doesn’t mind. He loves it.

He loves it too when Mary decides to update her old room, for her and Grace and Joanie to share, and all three girls have a little too much fun with it, and it turns into chaos, but ends up filled with stuffed animals and those printed tapestries from the North Shore and twinkly lights in orange and pink and blue, and he can’t imagine sleep happening in there, but it does, though he’s sure gossip happens as well, but that just makes him smile.

But mostly he loves how proud he catches Steve looking, when Danny’s sitting on the sofa with Joanie and Charlie and Mary, and they’re watching a movie, and Danny knows it feels like family, and Steve is clearly taking a mental picture before he joins them with the popcorn, most of which ends up being thrown at him by the kids... which he loves more than he would ever admit, but Danny sees it in his eyes, and his heart just melts.

There is a period of adjustment with the team, of course. At first Steve freaks out about doing things “correctly” and he makes either Lou or Adam partner with Danny for about a month before he decides that’s just dumb and they can handle it, it’s not like anything’s really different anyway, and that’s just exactly it. 

Because it’s not.

Tani comments on it first, but then Junior agrees. It’s a little more obvious, but it just reinforces the notion they were basically dating the whole time anyway. And, yeah, they’re more demonstrative, and okay, there’s kissing now along with those post case hugs, but they mostly keep it subtle around the kids (less so when it’s just Lou and Adam, which both men note with equal parts annoyance and fondness).

But they’re still very much the same team they’ve always been. If anything they all grow closer with it, and there’s even almost a sense that everyone had somehow been waiting for it to happen, and everything is simply  _more right_. And really that’s an amazing feeling. 

Life goes on like that for several months before Danny hears even a peep from Harry. 

He’s sitting out on the lanai drinking a beer, and Steve’s grilling some fish, when his phone rings, and Danny instantly is on alert, and prepared to go somewhere more private, if he needs to tell Harry things maybe Steve would rather not hear, but Harry makes it clear right away that’s not why he’s calling. He’s coming for a visit and he’s bringing someone Danny will be happy to see. And something in how he says it... Danny’s sure he knows who Harry means, and he’s sure he knows  _how_  Harry means it, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. And there’s still enough of the connection between them that he can tell Harry knows. And Harry sighs as though he should have known he wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret once Danny heard his voice.

“Holly’s never been to Hawaii, and I guess I talk about it a lot, so she finally twisted my arm and got me to agree to bring her. She wants to learn about the native plants, see if there are any she can use back home. Though I’m half afraid she’s going to like it there a little too much and not want to leave.”

It’s a thought Danny certainly wouldn’t object to, and it gives him an idea. “Harry, stay as long as you like. You guys can use my house, it’s basically standing empty anyway.” He feels kind of bad, admitting that, because of what it implies, but Harry right away sounds pleased.

“Well that’s about as good a sign as I could have hoped for. I’m delighted, Danny. You’ll have to update me more when we arrive.”

“I’ll come pick you up, and take you to the house. When do you get in?”

And they make arrangements, and chat for a little bit longer, and it’s not till he hangs up that he notices Steve watching him.

“You okay, buddy?” Steve asks, and he sounds solicitous and concerned, and Danny doesn’t realize why, until it sinks in.

“Hey, babe.” He stands and walks over to Steve, sliding his hands easily under Steve’s shirt and up his back, relishing the way Steve settles into it, splaying his feet wider, sinking down into Danny’s embrace. All their touches have evolved like this. Like their tactile tendencies from early on have leveled up, and it’s one of the more wonderful experiences of Danny’s life. “I’m happy for Harry. Holly is amazing. And, I think probably just what he’s needed. I can’t wait to see what she makes of you, though.” And Steve stiffens at that, but then Danny kisses him, and he falls into it with relish.

After they eat, and they’re sitting out on the lanai with beers, in chairs across from one another, bare feet resting in each other’s chairs, Steve’s at Danny’s side, Danny’s in Steve’s lap, his hand resting lightly on them in a way Danny’s come to love, like it’s somehow the most possessive thing Steve does, maybe because he only does it in private, when it’s just them. Steve’s seeming a bit distracted, and Danny’s pretty sure he knows why.

“Babe. Are  _you_  okay with this visit?”

And he knows he’s right because it takes Steve a beat too long to react. “Huh? Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Ohhh, I don’t know, because the last time Harry was here he and I were sleeping together, living together....”

“What, you think I’m jealous?”

Danny smiles, pulls his feet off Steve’s lap, places them on the decking in front of him and leans forward. “You tell me.”

Steve’s body has gone tense, and Danny half expects him to deflect. But then he slouches, and the resistance leaves him, and when he looks up, it’s not jealousy Danny sees. It’s fear.

“What if you see him and decide you made the wrong choice? What if being near him again makes you want him back? What if you regret having given him up... for  _me_.”

And he supposes it’s simply a twist on what Danny was expecting, but it’s a twist of the knife in his heart, because how long has Steve been harboring these fears? Surely they didn’t just spring up out of nothing... especially as Harry’s with someone now too.

So Danny stands and steps closer to Steve. He takes a deep breath and allows himself a grounding exhalation.

“First of all, I will  _never_  regret you. Second. I will always care for him. Because of the person he is, because of our time together... and because of how he led me back to you.” He takes one more step, and he’s slotted between Steve’s legs, which he’d spread as Danny neared. Steve squeezes his legs together, trapping Danny, and he looks up with those damn puppy dog eyes... and Danny’s glad for the added support of Steve’s legs, because shit, he still goes weak in the fucking knees over this infuriating man before him. Danny reaches out for Steve’s hands, and when Steve offers his, Danny holds them tightly. “So, no, Steven. I did not make the wrong choice. I made the only choice I could. The only one my heart would let me make.”

Steve grins, and it’s a bit goofy and soft, a bit cocky, and he pulls on Danny’s hands so he falls sideways into his lap, and he wraps him up in his arms and holds on tight, as though he’d prevent him from leaving anyway—just in case.

And he’s like that for the rest of the night. Holding Danny close, not letting him go. Keeping him bracketed with his arms, as though he’s trying to contain him, as he fucks so slowly into him that Danny thinks he’ll dissolve before he comes. Not letting him move after. Holding him down, weighting him down with his body, with his gaze. As though he’s simultaneously amazed that he’s still there and not willing to let go, just to be safe.

He’s like that the next day, too. Not letting Danny out of his sight. Barely wanting to stop touching him. And he’s maybe developed a bit of a habit of sending the kids out with Adam or Lou and justifying it as training, getting them working better together—and keeping him and Danny in the office. “So they learn more,” he says. But Danny’s noticed Steve does it on days he’s a little less willing to stop touching Danny for very long. And maybe that’s bad, maybe it’s a little too much a sign of the persistence of Steve’s abandonment issues. But it’s not like Danny doesn’t have his own issues. Not like there aren’t times he’s glad when it’s Junior doing the crazy SEAL stunts and not Steve. Besides. Danny likes these times. They sit in Steve’s office and they get stuff done, but they’re alone together, and yeah, it’s work, but it’s still time together. And Danny treasures all of it. Because the reality is always going to be they have no idea how much time they will get, and they’ve wasted more than enough of it already. 

And he’s finding ways that help, to reassure Steve. Letting him be possessive is one of them, and honestly, it’s not like Danny minds. He would have expected that maybe he would. Find being held so closely almost too much. But it soothes him, too, somehow. Partly because he knows it reassures Steve—he can feel his heart rate slow, feel his breaths ease. But it calms something deep within Danny as well. Something he didn’t know needed soothing, but he feels it slide more easily into place when Steve’s like this. And he can’t explain it, but it feels so warm, and so safe. And he cherishes it.

He brings it up again that night, though, because he is still going to worry about Steve worrying too much—and yes, worrying about someone worrying sounds ridiculous, but if anyone could manage it, it’d be Danny. Besides, he wants very much for them both to enjoy Harry’s visit. Without being tense and concerned and dwelling on past doubts and fears and insecurities. 

But he doesn’t bring it up with words. He does it in a way he thinks Steve’s more likely to understand. He does it with his body. Because it hasn’t escaped Danny’s notice that when Steve’s being most honestly emotional, he does it physically. And yes, he’s getting more comfortable with talking about things, with learning how to put his emotions into words. Learning how to express what he feels using language. But he’s still more comfortable doing it with gestures and with his body—with his hands and his lips and yes, with his dick. So Danny copies that. He holds him down, first with his hands, with his arms. Then with his kisses, with his whole body. He mirrors what Steve had done, fucking him so slowly, with as much of their bodies touching as possible. And he  _sees_  it working. Watches the awareness on Steve’s face, tastes it in his kisses. Danny’s using Steve’s language to tell him.  _You’re mine, only mine, the only one I want, everything I need_. And he watches as it melts into Steve’s skin. Onto his lips, and over his heart.

Sex with them is always like this, he realizes. Even when it’s just a quick stress-relieving, mutual hand job in the shower, or a fast fuck before going out. It’s still amazingly drenched in meaning and emotion. It’s a whole vocabulary Danny never knew existed. And it’s so fantastically Steve. And yeah, he loves it.

The next day he picks Harry and Holly up from the airport. And he tries to get Steve to come with him, but he says he wants Danny to have some time just the three of them. And Danny knows he thinks it will be awkward if he’s there, and he tries to tell him otherwise, but Steve kisses him, and somehow he gets it, and there maybe aren’t words for it, for what Steve feels, but Danny nods, and agrees to get leis for them both and say they’re from Steve.

And, alright. It’s even nicer than he’d imagined, seeing Harry again. He’s never going to not feel warmth and affection and yeah, a little bit more for him. He’s had relationships that ended in friendships that have meant a great deal to him. But never as much as this. And they hug, and it’s public, so it should be restrained, but the happiness and the fondness seep out all over them, and they both know it, and they laugh a little awkwardly. And if it wasn’t already totally clear, it would be when they both look at Holly, who is smiling so sweetly, so knowingly at them. She hugs Danny, and he knows it’s only a preview, but she hugs him like she’s been wanting to hug him for such a long time, and it soothes his heart in almost exactly the same way her borage gin had.

Danny does the lei giving after the hugs (not wanting to squish the flowers, thank you), and Holly is already taken with what she terms the permeation of flower and plant language in daily life in Hawaii. Harry smiles adoringly, and Danny grins at him—happy to see him looking so pleased, but also amused at how smitten he is. After all, they’ve known each other for decades. But maybe that’s just exactly it. It’s not like he and Steve hadn’t been dancing around each other for nearly a decade themselves.

Holly drifts away, at baggage claim, giving the boys a chance to chat about her—like she’d done that first time Danny met her.

Danny pulls Harry as close as he dares, slipping his hand lightly through his arm just briefly, and feeling the squeeze on his arm when Harry closes the distance.

“I never really stopped loving her, you know,” Harry admits, watching Holly leaf through tourist magazines. “Jo was different, Jo was amazing. But I never stopped caring for Holly, it just changed into something deeper. Maybe that was the secret, maybe that’s why it worked. We became such good friends through it all. And yes I know that having Jo in common is part of our relationship. But in such a wonderful way. I can’t explain it. But it works. I never would have thought that, by the way, if not for you.”

And Danny’s pleased, if a bit surprised. “How so?” He asks. But the luggage arrives just then, so the explanation will have to wait.

Danny drives them the scenic way to his house—which is to say, he drives them by his favorite view. Holly makes them get out, and she takes a selfie with Harry, and okay, it gives Danny a little pang. Because that’s something they’d never done, him and Harry. Neither of them thought to take photos while they were together. And maybe there’s part of Danny that’s regretting that now. He sees Harry having the same thought and give him a sad smile, which Danny returns with a shrug. 

Holly doesn’t say anything, though Danny’s sure she registers that some communication has passed between them. But she doesn’t look irritated by it, like he might expect. Not in the least. In fact she looks pleased. Slipping her hands through each of their arms, slotting herself between them, she pulls them close to her and says: “Now, show me your home, Danny, and then I am taking you boys for drinks.”

And Danny remembers how he’d thought it would be Holly’d with the upper hand over Harry if it came to it. He’s certain of that now. 

They decide on the Tropics Bar, because Holly insists on the classic for her introduction to island drinks, and Danny couldn’t forget his first Blue Hawaii, even if he wanted to. But Holly falls in love before they even make it to the beach. They must stop six times at least to look at plants between the parking garage and the bar—which is right on the sands of Waikiki. When they finally get there, she slips her shoes off, smiles at the boys and says “I just have to dip my toes in first...” and walks out towards the waves, leaving them—in their shoes and socks, standing under a palm at the edge of the path.

“Is she—” Danny starts, but Harry interrupts him.

“Always this adorable?”

Danny laughs. “God it’s so good to see you like this.”

“Like what?” Harry asks, turning his fond gaze away from Holly and toward Danny, the fond expression not fading in the least.

“ _In love_.”

Harry smiles. “I looked this way with you, you know.”

Danny’s certain it’s different, but he’s not going to push it. He slides a hand up to Harry’s shoulder, but just rests it lightly rather than slapping it. Harry steps closer, and they watch together, as Holly enjoys her first wade into the waters of what Danny’s long since given up pretending isn’t the most magical beach in the world.

They’re soon sipping the bright blue concoctions the bar is famous for, and Danny tells the story of his first. Of Steve insisting on doing things “the island way,” instructing him in the nuances of “island time,” and about how Danny used to wear ties.

“I can’t see it,” Holly says, looking him up and down. “This clearly suits you.”

Harry chuckles his agreement, which draws her attention to him.

“It suits you, too,” she says, almost a little surprised, and it strikes Danny that the Waikiki effect is at work. This place brings it out in people. A softness, a sentimentality, and a fondness that washes over everything, into everything, until you begin to imagine you’re simply happier here. 

He’s not sure it’s not true.

They walk along the beach after their drinks. Past gardens and resorts, past families and honeymooners, past locals and tourists, young and old. And Holly walks between Danny and Harry, her arms linked with theirs, except when she lets go to head back to the water to get her feet wet. Or when she skips ahead of them, eager to see more. Or when she falls behind to linger over the sight of a boat or paddle boarders or surfers. She takes in as much as she can, like she’s absorbing everything to process later.

One of the times she comes back to Harry, she’s as giddy as a school girl.

“Take me sailing again.”

It’s clear to Danny there’s a story there, and when Harry looks at him to ask if he knows where to get a boat, Danny’s already two steps ahead of him.

“Steve can hook you up, for sure.”

And Holly kisses him on the cheek.

“Probably we had better feed her soon,” Harry says, fondly exasperated as she links their arms again.

“Capital idea,” she says. “I’m ready to try a... what did you say it was called? A plate lunch?”

So they end up at Kamekona’s of course, and Holly’s reactions are an echo of Harry’s own from his first time. More bubbly and effusive, but in the same line of delighted surprise, and Kamekona is clearly taken with her, and brings seconds at no charge, which Danny’s sure has to be a first. She lets Danny and Harry eat most of it, though, so he’s not complaining.

They’re sitting after, watching people on the beach and lazily sipping Longboards, when Steve shows up. And Danny finds himself wishing Holly had a little more booze and a lot less food in her when she met him, but nothing for it now.

“I thought I might find you here,” Steve calls as he ambles over. 

And Danny instantly wishes he had a little more food and a lot less booze in his own system, because damn his boyfriend is hot.

It’s a thought he knows both Harry and Holly read perfectly.

“Commander,” Holly says warmly, as she stands and moves toward him, to shake his hand.

Steve does that thing where he briefly evaluates whether he should salute, and Danny’s completely forgotten that Holly’s MI6 as well. Which, he realizes, is probably part of why she’s so effective at her job.

“Steve, please,” he decides, and with a little laugh, she hugs him instead.

She whispers something in his ear while they’re close, and Danny sees Steve’s cheeks turn slightly pink. Then he slides into his usual spot, right up close to Danny, stealing his beer (also as usual), and wrapping his arm solidly into place around Danny’s shoulders, pulling him close and holding him there (a little more tightly than normal). And okay, Danny had suspected Steve would be possessive around Harry. And he wishes he didn’t feel the need, but at the same time, it warms him. It’s not been  _so_  long since Danny’d seriously doubted Steve’s attachment to him that he doesn’t find his possessiveness comforting. 

Holly grins softly at them both and Danny remembers their conversation about SEALs and super spies, and letting people in, and he smiles back at her as she leans against Harry, who kisses her on the head, and looks over at Steve and Danny like he couldn’t be more pleased. And dammit, but it’s just such a nice fucking moment, okay? Such a nice moment.

They wind up back at Steve’s later on in the evening, with pizza and wine out on the lanai. Steve offers to take Holly paddle boarding in the morning if Harry will make some of those delicious scones, and Danny hits him, but Harry just looks smug.

“I’d be happy to.”

And he glances over at Danny, just for a moment, but Danny sees it—Harry will be glad for the chance to continue their conversation from before.

“Think you could teach me to make them?” Danny asks, maybe to give them a more solid excuse, maybe just— “Since this big goof likes them so much.”

Harry’s expression flickers with amusement. “Only if you teach me your spaghetti and meatball recipe.” He still knows all of Danny’s soft spots. Which pleases Danny more than maybe it should.

“Fair trade,” Danny nods in acquiescence. 

And Danny almost misses it, because he and Harry are having a silent conversation beneath their agreeable words, but Steve and Holly seem to be having a wordless conversation of their own, and Danny’s not sure if he should be glad... or on his guard. 

Turns out it’s glad. Really very glad. Because while Harry and Danny talk about grandmothers and baking as Harry teaches Danny how to make scones over coffee the next morning, Holly and Steve bond out on the salty sea—over a shared family tradition of sailors and self-sacrifice and the suppression of emotions.

Because of course, he should have known—Holly comes from a long line of Royal Navy officers. Men brought up to that life, to the sacrifices it demands, and to a certain expectation of not being emotionally open. Her grandmother had tried to break through some of those salty shells, using her knowledge of human nature and of the nature of plants, and hence had Holly’s fascination with botanical properties been born into her. 

The thing about it that makes Danny’s heart glad is that he can see, almost instantly, how it’s impacted Steve, having someone who “gets” it. Who understands the pressures, the expectations, the dampening effect that kind of environment can have. And it’s not that it’s suddenly altered how he is, but it has given him something of a more comfortable footing. Some sense that it’s okay—it’s okay to be like that, but that it’s okay, too, to  _try_. To want to open up more, to want to break past those familial limitations. To let someone who doesn’t share them help you see there’s another way.

Steve whispers all this to Danny that night, after they’ve made love. His tone as he tells Danny “ _She gets it_ ,” reaches somewhere deep inside Danny’s gut and lets something free. Something Holly had touched on, when they’d first talked back in London. And Steve has been slowly opening up, Danny knows. But Holly’s managed in just a day to connect to something in Steve, to encourage him to delve maybe deeper than he’d yet felt safe doing. And it hasn’t shifted something so much as it’s added light, helped Steve to realize he can see more than he had imagined he might. And Danny knows it helped, knows that hearing it from someone else, someone other than Danny, helped. And he can’t wait to see where they might now go.

A few nights later, Danny and Harry are in his kitchen, working out Danny’s grandma’s marinara and meatball recipe while Steve and Holly are likely up to no good, drinking wine and sharing whispered stories on the sofa while definitely not watching a movie, merely using the sound as a distraction so their conversation isn’t overheard. The fact they’ve chosen a submarine thriller is not lost on either Danny or Harry. 

Meanwhile in the kitchen, the former lovers fall easily back into their conversation from the airport. And almost as easily back into their cooking routine from their time living together. And it’s comforting, Danny won’t deny that. He’s missed this. He’s missed Harry. But it all feels just a little removed. Something has shifted between them, and of course he misses that intimacy, but he knows they’re both more deeply contented... it’s like he can smell it, mixed with the herbs and the garlic. He can see it in Harry’s eyes, and he rather suspects Harry can see it in his.

Harry tells Danny, while he stirs the sauce, that growing close to him had been what had opened him up to the idea that he  _did_  want a relationship again—not just an endless string of affairs and flings. But it had been watching Steve and Danny finally find each other that had led Harry back to Holly. If Steve and Danny could get past their years of issues and begin to find healing together... maybe there was hope for him and Holly after all. It had evidently taken (though Danny suspects he is exaggerating) quite the wooing effort on Harry’s part to convince her that his intentions were genuine. But he’d refused to give up, and once he’d gotten the idea to restore her grandmother’s cottage, and even moved some of his own stuff into it—not in some stilted “I’m ready to settle down” assertion that no one would have believed, especially considering a good bit of what he’d moved in were tools of his trade. But maybe  _that_  was what had convinced her he was serious. Regardless, she’d finally taken him at his word, and neither of them had looked back since.

“I can’t fake it with her,” Harry admits. “I never could, she always saw right through me.” He smiles fondly at Danny, turning away from the sauce. “You did that. Right from the beginning.”

Danny laughs easily. Savoring being here again, in this warm kitchen with this beautiful, intelligent, compassionate man. “I think a lot of that was just luck,” he says. “You’re not hard to read.”

“Not everyone thinks that,” Harry says, setting the spoon down and leaning back against the counter, crossing his arms across his chest perhaps a tad defensively.

Danny’s laugh grows. “Okay, so your dashing secret agent act didn’t fool me, and I can see the big softie underneath. But you have to admit, you don’t try very hard to hide it.”

“Maybe that was just with you.”

He feels his eyes narrow. “I really seriously doubt that.”

“Mmmm,” Harry muses, noncommittally. “Steve fell for it.”

“Ha! He saw himself in it. You two bring it out in each other.”

Harry’s grin grows mischievous. “Are you saying you have a type?”

“Yes, evidently. Really annoying people who let sauce bubble over—watch that shirt please. Who wears white while making tomato sauce? Seriously.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Harry replies warmly, resuming his stirring duty, lowering the heat, then turning back to Danny. “You were right about that, by the way. I  _do_  use it to protect myself—that  _dashing secret agent thing_. And you wouldn’t let me do that.” His tone is affectionate, his eyes sparkling in the bright kitchen lights. “Holly doesn’t either.” He admits. “She never did.”

“She’s observant,” Danny points out. “And very insightful.”

“Yes, she is....”

Suddenly the quiet from the living room feels almost ominous. Just like in one of those submarine movies. 

“Are we maybe a little worried about what they’re getting up to out there?”

“Probably we should be....”

Danny gets some plates out of the cupboard. “Think they could set the table without causing an international incident?”

“Quite possibly.”

Turns out they can, though not without opening more wine, and gestures between them that feel to Danny a lot like secret code. He and Harry share a puzzled look, and decide its best left alone. 

After dinner, Steve helps Harry with the dishes, giving Danny some time with Holly, who possibly engineered that move, and is clearly grateful for a chance to talk with him alone—which warms him exactly the way he remembers from their brief time in London.

“Harry probably told you,” she says, once they’ve settled on the sofa, Hawaiian music floating liltingly in the background. She’s already grown fond of it, saying it sounds to her like sunshine and rain. A rainbow in music. “But he credits you with our getting back together.”

Danny starts to dismiss the assertion, but Holly knows it’s coming and stops him before he gets further than that sharp intake of breath you take when you’re about to protest something. 

“It’s true though. He came alive while he was with you. Maybe you didn’t see it, but I did. Even within those first few days. Closer to how he’d been with me ages ago. Before Jo. I think that’s why it worked.” Holly’s face softens, and Danny knows she’s remembering her friend. “She changed us both in really powerful ways. First me, then Harry. Jo was one of those people who affects everyone around her. So open a heart, such a playful and captivating spirit.” Her fondness is evident, though there’s obviously sadness beneath it. “It was addictive. But it changed who you were while you were with her.”

Danny sighs, he knows what that’s like... for him, that’s how it was with Rachel. Maybe not in the positive ways Holly means. But he’s always become someone different with her. It’s part of—a huge part of—why it never works with them. Because she does too, and that means it never lasts. Holly must see recognition in Danny’s eyes, because she watches him closely as she continues. 

“Harry and I.... We’re so much more  _ourselves_  with each other. Maybe that’s because we’ve known each other for so long, maybe it’s something else. I haven’t had it with anyone else to know. But it’s... just so  _simple_. We’re first and foremost best friends—have been for ages. It makes the relationship different, shifts the whole basis of it by starting with that kind of intrinsic trust....” She pauses, watching him. Sees, evidently, what she’s expecting. “I’m right in thinking that’s what you and Steve have.” 

Danny smiles, more than a little smitten with her insight. “Yeah,” he says softly. “That’s pretty much it exactly. We’re friends first. It really does make a difference, doesn’t it?” He thinks he’s known that on some level, but having someone else put it in words validates it in a way that’s powerfully comforting to him. Not for the first time he finds himself wishing she were around more, and he thinks she can tell. And returns the sentiment.

“We’re so lucky to have that,” she says, laying her hand softly on his arm. “You’re so good for Steve, Danny. And he knows it. He truly does. His heart is so wounded... and he just has to allow that, allow it’s okay, that it doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve you. He’ll get there. It’s how Harry felt. He’s tended to be more comfortable  _giving_  than allowing himself to be given to. Especially since Jo’s death. That’s what you did—you gave him that back.”

There’s more she would say, Danny’s sure, but Steve and Harry emerge from the kitchen, glasses of port in hand, and Danny’s amused by that—either Steve’s being gracious and civilized for once (Harry rubbing off on him in a good way for a change?) or he’s trying to prove he can be as cultured as Danny’s ex... and  _that’s_  something Danny’s not done before. Think of Harry as an ex. It doesn’t feel quite right. Harry’s not  _formerly_  anything, not in Danny’s heart, not really. But there’s part of him that likes having that bond, that label. Territorial of him, he knows. Maybe that’s Steve rubbing off on  _him_.

They chat easily over the sweet evening drink, Harry teasing Holly about adding livestock to the meadows behind her grandmother’s cottage. Steve, still flavored by his time on Joe’s ranch, goads him on, and they wind up concocting some completely insane idea involving horses and trekking in Scotland, most of which Danny completely ignores because no way is he getting involved in that nonsense.

“This is what happens, by the way,” Holly says to Danny at one particularly intense moment of logistics discussion between the two super goofs. “When they start to think of retiring. I did warn him that first time, but he stubbornly ignored me. You saw where that led....”

“Yeah, this will go nowhere good,” Danny agrees. And he and Holly decide to call a halt to proceedings before they turn into some kind of plot for world domination.  

Holly clears her throat, in a far more authoritarian way than Danny could ever manage, and the boys both look up.

He nods at Steve. “We should head home.”

Harry glances over at Holly, sees something there that motivates him, and he stands, smoothing his shirt. “Yes, of course, well, thank you so much for another lovely evening, and for the recipe—and of course, the use of your house, Danny.”

“Surfing tomorrow?” Steve asks Harry as they hug.

“Absolutely.”

Holly grabs hold of Danny’s arm. “I’m, erm, I’m going to show Danny that botanic garden we found, if that’s alright,” she says, tugging on him rather more firmly than he’d have thought she might. He looks at her, questioning, as this is a surprise to him, and he sees pleading written brightly in her eyes— _don’t make me go surfing_. And he smiles, squeezing her arm closer to him in reassurance that he gets it.

“Yep, that’s right. Holly’s going to teach me all about plant magic.”

Steve grins between them, glances at Harry who shrugs. “Sounds great. We can meet for drinks after at the Tropics Bar?”

“Lovely,” Holly says, relief clear in her tone, then she hugs Danny, whispering a grateful “ _Thank you”_ in his ear.

“My pleasure,” he replies, kissing her on the cheek. And he means it. Strolling through lush gardens with her sounds far more appealing than being drenched while Harry and Steve attempt to outdo each other on the waves. 

They work out the schedule for the next day, then say their goodnights—Harry and Holly standing with their arms around each other on Danny’s porch, waving goodbye before heading inside.

Once they’re in the truck, Steve turns to Danny, a softer, slightly awed version of his usual smirk playing across his lips in the pale light.

“You realize what you did there...” he says, softly.

And it takes Danny a moment to see what Steve means, but only a moment, because something had felt different to him as well. When he sees it, he goes a little lightheaded and feels his body heat. A faint laugh escapes his lips as he starts to speak.

“Heh... I called it home. Not ‘your place.’  _Home_.”

“Yeah.”

Danny looks over at Steve, who can’t take his eyes from him, like he’s drinking this moment in, wanting to capture every last drop.

“Like that, do you?” Danny asks, turning in his seat to better face Steve.

“Uh-huh,” Steve replies, eyes still huge.

Danny swallows and nods, and it’s harder than it should be, and the air is suddenly really thick. “I guess Grace was right,” he says vaguely, already a little lost in what else Grace might have been right about. 

Fortunately, Steve starts the truck and drives them back to his place. And as they get further away from Danny’s, and closer to the place he realizes he really  _has_  come to think of as home, he wonders why he’s let it go, what shifted to allow that hold he’d been keeping on his house to finally slip. Maybe being there with Harry again somehow loosened some string still linking him. Maybe Harry being there with Holly helped ease it, allowed it to begin to dissolve. And that’s how it feels... like it’s dissolving, the holds of the past. It will still be part of him—like Harry will always be important to him. It all matters, none of it ever goes completely away—he’s realized that with Rachel, too. More so with her because of the kids, but at the same time less so because of the wounds. But it all remains.... And yet, those holds do loosen, and he can move further away, step more solidly into the new, onto the right path, the welcoming path, towards future.... And he knows now. Steve’s been there for a while, standing there, waiting. And when did that happen? When did it become Danny who was holding them back?

He slides his hand across the center console between them, hoping Steve will meet him half way—and he does. That sense they both have of the other’s movements is not limited to work, but applies as much (if not more) to their private lives now. Steve’s fingers rub softly against his, and he finds himself sighing and relaxing further in his seat. When they pull up to the house, Steve reaches his other hand over to turn off the ignition and they sit there for a while, soaking in the newness of Danny admitting that Steve’s is now his home.

“Shall we?” Steve finally asks, tugging gently on Danny’s hand.

Danny’s eyes flutter closed and he nods, and gives Steve’s hand a lingering squeeze before letting it go. “Yeah...” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “ _I really think we should_.”

_He hopes_... and yeah, he  _knows_ , from the way Steve sucks a breath in, he knows his meaning isn’t missed.

Steve pulls out his phone and types a quick message. Waits a beat, gets an almost immediate reply, and grins before putting his phone away. Then turns to face Danny with a satisfied expression. 

Danny raises his eyebrows quizzically, and Steve shrugs.

“I told Grace to go ahead and get that blue dress.”

The laughter that erupts from Danny’s lips is by far the sweetest he’s ever tasted. But what’s even sweeter is the kiss that follows. And the promise behind it. That whatever comes, he won’t face it alone. And  _that_  is the best balm for any bruised and battered heart Danny’s ever known.

On a softly sunny afternoon not too long after that momentous evening, they also wear blue. And they stand, with their whole extended ohana, under the sheltering canopy of the shady trees. On their beach, out back of their home, as they vow to do just that—face all of it side by side. Together. 


End file.
